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THE  OLD  COUNTESS; 


OR. 


THE   TWO    PROPOSALS. 


BY  .. 


MRS.  AM  S.  STEPHENS. 

AUTHOR  OF  "LORD  HOPE'S  CHOICE,"  "THE  REIGNING  BELLE,"   "MARRIED  IN   HASTE," 

"MABEL'S  MISTA«E,"  "DOUBLY  FALSE,"  "WIVES  AND  WIDOWS,"  "  MARY  DERWENT," 

"THE  REJECTED  WIFE,"  "THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHANS,"  "THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD," 

"FASHION    AND   FAMINE,"  "THE  HEIRESS,"   "RUBY  GRAY'S  STRATEGY," 

"THE  CURSE  OF  GOLD,"  "SILENT  STRUGGLES,"  "THE  WIPE'S  SECRET," 

"  PALACES  AND  PRISONS,"  "  THE  GOLD  BKICK,"  "  A  NOBLE  WOMAN." 


A  SEQUEL  TO  "LORD  HOPE'S  CHOICE." 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.   B.    PETE.RSON  &  BROTHERS; 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &    BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


MRS.   AM    S.  STEPHENS'  WORKS. 

Each  Work  is  complete  in  one  volume,  12mo. 

THE  OLD  COUNTESS;.  Q&-THE  TWO  PROPOSALS. 
LORD  HOPES  CHOICE. 

THE  REIGNING  BELLE. 

A  A  NOBLE  WOMAN. 

MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 

WIVES  AND  WIDOWS;  OR,   THE  BROKEN  LIFE. 
THE  REJECTED  WIFE. 

THE  GOLD  BRICK. 

THE  CURSE  OF  GOLD. 

THE  HEIRESS. 
FASHION  AND  FAMINE. 

PALACES  AND  PRISONS. 

THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD. 

SILENT  STRUGGLES. 

MART  DERWENT. 
THE  WIFE'S  SECRET. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHANS. 

RUBY  GRAFS  STRATEGY. 
MABEL'S  MISTAKE. 

DOUBLY  FALSE. 
Price  of  each,  $1.75  in  Cloth ;  or  $1.50  in  Paper  Cover. 


Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  of  any  or 
all  of  the  above  book3  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to  any  place, 
postage  pre-paid,  on  receipt  of  their  price  by  the  Publishers, 
T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


Black 


33* 

CONTENTS. 


Chapter  PACK 

I.— LOVE  LIGHTS  IN  TWO  BEAUTS.................. 23 

II. — CLARA  APPEALS   TO    HER    STEPMOTHER 30 

III.— LOVERS'    QUARREL 40 

IV. — THE  ITALIAN    TEACHER 48 

V. — THE    MOTHER  AND    DAUGHTER  IN  OPPOSITION..  51 
VI.— SOME  OLD  ACQUAINTANCES   GET    INTO  A  CONJU- 
GAL DIFFICULTY...  ....... .« - 68 

VII. — THE  OPERATIC    SUPPER 77 

VIII. — BEHIND  THE  SCENES 86 

IX. — THE  FIRST  PERFORMANCE -. . .  _.  .  _  . .  91 

X.— THE    TWO  FOSTER-CHILDREN    MEET 96 

XL — LADY  CLARA  QUARRELS  WITH  HER   STEPMOTHER  101 

XII. — THE  OLD    PRISONER 107 

XIII.— THE  OLD    COUNTESS 116 

XIV.— THE  OLD  COUNTESS  ANJD  HER  SERVANT 122 

xv.— THE  EARL'S  RETURN 133 

XVI. — THE  WIFE  AND  THE  DAUGHTER 143 

XVIL— HUSBAND  ANp  WIFE 152 

XVIII.— THE  STORMY  NIGHT  AND  SUNSHINY  MORNING..  159 

XIX.— AtfTEB    XHE    FAILURE 167 

(21) 


2Q5--1  2 


22  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Page 

XX. — LORD    HILTON   TAKES    SUPPER  WITH    OLYMPIA..    176 

XXI. — ON   THE  WAY  TO   HOUGHTON    C  A.STLE 184 

XXII. — THE   OLD   COUNTESS 191 

XXIII. — EXPLANATIONS    AND   CONCESSIONS 197 

XXIV. — DOWN   BY   THE  BROOK   AMONG    THE    FERNS 203 

XXV.— HOW  LADY   CLARA   GOT   HER   OWN   WAY 206 

XXVI.— THE    QUARREL  AND   THE   LETTER 214 

XXVIL— MAGGIE    CASEY  MEETS   HER   OLD    LOVER 220 

XXVIII. — JUST   FIFTY    POUNDS 224 

XXIX.— OLYMPIA'S   DEFEAT 232 

XXX. — THE   FAMILY   MEETING    AT   HOUGHTON 240 

XXXI.— DOWN    AMONG   THE   FERNS    AGAIN 247 

XXXII. — OUT   AMONG  THE   TREES 253 

XXXI1L— THE   BALL   AT    HOUGHTON 263 

XXXIV.— THE  OLD   WOMAN   WANDERS    BACK   AGAIN 269 

XXXV.— LADY   HOPE   IN   THE    CASTLE 274 

XXXVI.— DEATH   IN    THE    TOWER-CHAMBER 280 

XXXVII.— THE   NEMESIS..,  ,.    289 


THE  OLD  COUNTESS; 

OB, 

THE    TWO    PROPOSALS. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

LOVE-LIGHTS    IN   TWO   HEABTS. 

<•• 

DUBIXG  fourteen  years  Hepworth  Gloss  had  been  a  wan- 
derer over  the  earth. 

When  he  was  carried  out  from  the  court-room  after  Mrs. 
Yates'  confession  of  a  crime  which  he  bad  shrinkingly 
believed  committed  by  another,  he  had  fainted  from  the 
suddenness  with  which  a  terrible  load  had  been  lifted  from 
his  soul. 

In  that  old  woman's  guilt  he  had  no  share.  It  swept 
the  blackness  from  the  marriage  he  had  protested  against 
as  hideously  wicked.  The  wrong  he  had  done  was  divested 
of  the  awful  responsibilities  which  had  seemed  more  than 
he  could  bear.  The  revelation  had  made  him,  compara- 
tively, an  innocent  and  free  man.  But  a  shock  had  been 
given  to  his  whole  being  which  unfitted  him  for  the  com- 
mon uses  of -society.  . 

After  all  that  had  passed  through  his  mind  he  could  not 
bear  to  think  of  joining  his  sister  or  husband.  The  keen 

(23) 


24  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

feelings  of  a  nature,  not  in  its  full  development  wicked  or 
dishonorable,  had  been  startled  into  life,  when  he  saw  into 
what  a  gulf  he  had  almost  plunged.  He  saw  the  sin  and 
the  wrong  he  had  done  in  its  true  light,  and  not  only  repent- 
ed of  it,  but  abhorred  it  from  the  very  depths  of  his  soul. 
He  longed  to  make  atonement,  and  would  have  given  ten 
years  from  his  life  for  a  chance  by  which  he  could  have 
sacrificed  himself  to  any  one  that  poor  murdered  lady  had 
loved. 

These  feelings  rose  up  like  a  barrier  between  him  and  his 
sister.  Her  influence  over  his  youth  had  been  so  powerful 
that  his  own  better  nature  never  might  have  asserted  itself 
but  for  the  tragedy  which  followed  his  first  plunge  into 
deception  and  wrong-doing.  He  loved  this  beautiful  young 
woman  yet,  as  few  brothers  of  any  age  or  class  ever  did ; 
but  the  shock  of  that  tragedy  was  on  him,  and  his  impulse 
was  to  flee  from  her  and  the  man  for  whose  sake  all  this 
trouble  had  come. 

Hepworth  Gloss  was  not  the  first  youth  whose  life  has 
opened  with  evil  thoughts  and  evil  deeds,  from  which  his 
manhood  shrank  appalled. 

The  unformed  intellect  and  quick  passions  of  youth  have 
wrecked  many  a  noble  soul,  by  the  sin  of  an  hour  or  a  day, 
beyond  the  redemption  of  a  toiling  and  regretful  after-life. 
The  man  who  does  redeem  himself  must  have  a  powerful 
nature,  which  will  force  its  strength  to  be  recognized,  and 
make  its  regeneration  felt.  But  to  the  sins  of  youth  much 
should  be  forgiven,  which,  in  the  mature  man,  justice  might 
utterly  condemn. 

Hepworth  Gloss  arose  from  that  fainting  fit  humbled  and 
grateful.  That  moment  his  resolve  was  taken.  He  would 
not  share  the  benefits  which  might  come  to  him  through 
his  sister's  marriage,  nor  in  anything  partake  of  a  reward 
for  the  evil  he  had,  in  mercy,  been  saved  from.  The  world 


LOVE-LIGHTS     IN     TWO     HEARTS.  25 

was  before  him.  He  would  work  his  way  into  prosperity, 
if  possible ;  if  not,  bear  his  fate  like  a  man  who  had  de- 
served suffering,  and  could  endure  it. 

One  act  of  restitution  was  in  his  power.  The  property 
of  the  unfortunate  person,  whom  ,he  knew  as  Lady  Hope, 
had  fallen  into  his  possession,  for  the  house  had  been  pur- 
chased in  his  name,  and,  in  like  manner,  her  deposits  had 
been  made.  He  had  never  intended  to  claim  this  money  as 
his  own,  and  invested  it  now,  holding  himself  as  the  trustee. 
This  done,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  world,  quite  alone. 

During  fifteen  years  he  had  asserted  the  honorable  man- 
hood that  had  sprung  out  of  his  erring  youth.  That  fear- 
ful tragedy  had  sickened  him  with  deception,  and  with  all 
ambition  which  did  n6t  spring  out  of  his  own  honest  exer- 
tions. He  went  forth,  with  all  his  energies  on  the  alert, 
and  his  intellect  free  from  the  suspicions  that  had  for  a  time 
enthralled  it.  He  had  craved  riches,  and  hoped  to  obtain 
them  through  Rachael's  marriage.  This  had  been  a  temp- 
tation. He  had  ambition  still,  but  it  took  a  far  more  noble 
direction.  With  wealth  he  would  gather  knowledge  ;  with 
both,  mental  force  and  moral  power. 

He  went.  Men  saw  him  in  the  gold  mines  of  California, 
in  Australia,  and  among  the  traders  of  India  and  Japan. 
Then  he  came  back  to  New  York,  and  was  honorably 
known  upon  the  exchange.  Then  came  a  yearning  wish  to 
see  his  sister,  the  only  relative  he  had  on  earth  ;  and  we 
find  him  at  the  gate  of  Oakhurst  Park,  just  as  Lady  Clara 
dashed  through  it,  as  bright  a  vision  of  joyous,  happy  girl- 
hood as  ever  crossed  the  path  of  any  man. 

That  moment  I  think  that  Hepworth  Closs  fell  in  love 
with  the  girl.  If  so,  it  was  absolutely  his  first  love.  The 
boyish  and  most  unprincipled  passion  he  had  felt  for  that 
murdered  lady  had  no  similitude  with  the  feelings  that  pos- 
sessed him  now.  It  was  a  wicked,  insane  desire,  springing 


26  THE     OLD   COUNTESS. 

out  of  his  perverted  youth — a  feeling  that  he  would  have 
shuddered  to  have  recognized  as  love,  in  these,  his  better 
days. 

Yes,  it  is  certain  Gloss  loved  the  girl  at  first  sight,  but 
was  unconscious  of  it,  as  the  nest  is  when  a  dove  settles 
down  to  its  brooding. 

As  for  the  girl,  she  had  seen  but  few  men  in  her  life  cal- 
culated to  disturb  the  repose  of  a  creature  so  gifted  and 
rich  in  imagination.  At  first  Hepworth  had  seemed  rather 
an  old  person  to  her,  notwithstanding  the  gloss  of  his  black 
hair,  and  the  smooth  whiteness  of  his  forehead.  With  a 
trust  in  this,  which  gradually  betrayed  her,  she  accepted 
him  frankly  as  a  relative,  and  in  less  than  three  weeks, 
grew  restless  as  a  bird.  She  wondered  what  had  made  the 
world  all  at  once  so  gloriously  beautiful,  and  why  it  was  so 
difficult  for  her  to  keep  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes  when 
the  soft  purple  evening  came  down,  and  divided  the  day 
which  had  been  spent  with  him,  from  the  night,  when  she 
could  only  hope  to  see  him  in  shadowy  dreams. 

Rachael  Gloss  saw  all  this,  and  it  filled  her  with  bitter 
rejoicing.  How  would  her  powerful  old  enemy  receive  the 
intelligence  that  a  brother  of  hers  had  won  the  heart  of  the 
future  Lady  Carset?  that  he  would  be  lord  of  the  proud 
old  castle,  which  must  go  with  the  title,  and  mingle  the 
blood  she  had  so  often  denounced  as  base  with  that  which 
had  turned  against  her,  with  such  hot  scorn,  ever  since  she 
entered  England  as  Lord  Hope's  wife  ? 

The  very  thought  of  that  haughty  old  peeress  so  humili- 
ated was  wonderfully  pleasant  to  the  wounded  pride  of 
Rachael  Gloss.  But  far  beyond  this  was  the  yearning, 
almost  passionate  fondness  she  felt  for  her  brother  and  the 
beautiful  girl  who  had  been  to  her  at  once  a  Nemesis  and 
an  infatuation. 

This  was  what  Lady  Hope  had  hinted  at  when  Hepworth 


LOVE-LIGHTS     IN     TWO     HEARTS.  27 

first  came.  The  great  wish  of  her  heart  had  grown  to  be 
the  union  of  these  two  persons,  next  to  one  supreme  object 
of  love,  the  dearest  beings  to  her  on  earth.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  those  long,  weary  intervals,  which  grew  more  and 
more  frequent,  when  Lord  Hope  left  her  alone  in  the  deso- 
late splendor  of  that  great  house,  would  be  more  endurable 
if  she  were  certain  that  these  two  persons  would  always  be 
near  her.  She  was  not  ambitious  for  her  brother.  That 
feeling  had  died  out  years  ago  ;  but  her  love  sprang  to  him, 
like  a  freshly-kindled  flame. 

With  Lady  Hope,  as  with  Eachael  Gloss,  there  was  no 
moderation  in  her  feelings,  which  were  tenacious  as  they 
were  powerful  and  exacting.  But  Rachael,  with  all  her 
impetuosity,  had  strong  contradictory  qualities.  She  was 
sagacious,  and  could  rein  in  her  passion  of  love  or  hate  as 
an  Arab  controls  his  desert  steed.  That  which  her  soul 
most  desired  she  could  wait  for. 

One  night,  when  the  moonbeams  lay  like  silver  on  the 
stone  terrace,  and  the  shadow  of  the  peacock  fell  from  the 
balustrade  like  a  second  bird,  Lady  Hope  complained  of 
fatigue,  and  retreated  into  her  own  room,  leaving  Hepworth 
and  Clara  sitting  upon  a  flight  of  steps  which  led  down  to 
a  flower-garden,  somewhat  neglected  of  late  years,  which 
lay  beneath  the  stone  terrace  and  brightened  the  grounds 
nearest  to  the  lady's  apartments.  Not  far  from  these  steps 
was  a  noble  old  cedar  of  Lebanon,  rooted  deep,  where  the 
drawbridge  had  been  hundreds  of  years  before.  Beneath  it 
was  a  rustic  seat,  and  in  its  branches  innumerable  birds 
were  sleeping. 

There  never  was,  perhaps,  a  finer  contrast  of  silver  light 
and  black  shadow  in  any  landscape  than  surrounded  these 
two  persons,  as  they  .sat  together  side  by  side,  both  thinking 
of  the  same  thing,  and  both  reluctant  to  break  the  delicious 
silence. 


28  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

At  last  Hepworth  spoke— it  was  but  a  single  word,  which 
made  his  companion  start  and  hold  her  breath. 

"  Clara ! " 

She  did  not  answer  himf  that  one  word  frightened  her. 
She  had  half  a  mind  to  start  up  and  hide  herself  in  the 
shadows,  for  he  was  looking  in  her  face,  and  the  moonlight 
fell  like  a  glory  over  his  features,  which  she  now  saw  were 
grave  even  to  sadness. 

"Clara,  do  you  know  that  I  must  go  away  soon  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  ! " 

The  girl  had  not  expected  this.  The  infinite  tenderness 
in  his  voice  had  led  her  completely  astray,  and  she  broke 
forth  in  an  eager  protest. 

"  I  must,  dear  child." 

"  Dear  child  !  "  repeated  the  girl,  half  crying.  "  Yes,  yes, 
you  treat  me  like  a  child — as  if  I  could  help  being  young — 
as  if  I  could  not  feel  and  think  and  be  miserable  like  other 
people.  It's  hard,  it's  cruel,  it's — it's — " 

Here  Clara  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  leaping  to  her 
feet,  would  have  run  into  the  room  where  Lady  Hope  was 
sitting,  but  Gloss  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"What  are  you  crying  for,  Clara?  Why  do  you  wish  to 
run  away  ?  It  is  wrong  to  say  this,  but  I  must  go,  because 
of  loving  you  as  no  man  ever  loved  a  woman  before." 

"A  woman  ?  "  said  Clara,  and  gleams  of  mischief  peeped 
out  from  behind  her  tears.  "  You  called  me  a  child  just 
now." 

"Woman  or  child,  Clara,  you  are  the  dearest  thing  to  me 
on  earth." 

Clara  struggled  in  his  arms,  and  tried  to  push  him  from 
her. 

"  I— I  don't  believe  you.     There  !  " 

«  Don't  believe  me  ?  " 

Hepworth   released   the  girl,  and  allowed   her  to  stand 


LOVE-LIGHTS     IN     TWO     HEARTS.  29 

alone.     On   any  subject  touching  his  honor  he  was  pecu- 
liarly sensitive. 

"  Because — because  men  who  love  people  don't  run  away 
from  them.  It — it  isn't  reasonable." 

All  the  mischief  in  her  eyes  was  drowned  in  fresh  tears. 
She  thought  that  he  was  offended,  and  the  estrangement  of 
a  moment  seems  eternal  to  first  love. 

"  Honorable  men  do  not  permit  themselves  to  speak  of 
love  at  all  where  they  have  reason  to  think  it  unwelcome," 
was  his  grave  reply. 

"  Unwelcome  ?     Oh,  Mr.  Gloss  !  " 

Clara  held  out  both  her  hands  and  catne  nearer  to  Hep- 
worth,  like  a  child  that  wants  to  be  forgiven.  He  drew  her 
close  to  his  side,  but  spoke  a  little  sadly. 

"  You  see  how  much  I  must  love  you,  Clara,  to  forget  all 
that  a  guest  in  your  father's  house  should  remember." 

"  I — I  don't  know  ;  I  can't  understand  what  it  is  that 
you  have  done  wrong.  I'm  sure  I'm  ready  to  forgive 
you." 

She  might  have  said  more,  but  he  took  the  breath  from 
her  lips,  and  held  her  so  close  to  his  heart  that  she  could 
feel  its  tumultuous  beatings. 

"  But  I  can  never  forgive  myself,  darling." 

"  Oh,  yes  you  will ! " 

The  creature  pursed  up  her  lips  and  offered  them  for  his 
kiss — thus,  as  she  thought,  tempting  him  into  self-forgive- 
ness. 

"  Is  it  that  you  really — really  love  me  ?  "  questioned 
Hepworth,  searching  the  honest  eyes  she  lifted  to  his  with 
a  glance  half-passionate,  half-sorrowful,  which  brought  a 
glow  of  blushes  to  her  face. 

"  Can  you  ask  that  now  ? "  she  questioned,  drooping 
her  head.  "Will  a  good  girl  take  kisses  from  the  man  she 
does  not  lave  ?  " 


30  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  God  bless  you  for  saying  it,  darling !  Oh,  if  it  could  be 
—if  it  could  be  ! " 

"  If  what  could  be,  Mr.  Gloss  ?" 

"  That  you  might  be  my  wife,  live  with  me  forever,  lovo 
me  forever." 

"  Your  wife?  "  answered  Clara,  pondering  over  the  sweet 
word  in  loving  tenderness.  "  Your  wife  ?  Are  you  asking 
me  if  I  will  be  that?" 

"I  dare  not  ask  you,  Clara.  What  would  your  father 
say  ?  What  would  he  have  a  right  to  say  ?  " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  Clara,  ruefully, 
for  she  CQuld  not  honestly  say  that  her  father  would  con- 
sent. 

"  You  see,  Clara,  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  say  farewell, 
and  go." 


CHAPTER  II. 

CLARA   APPEALS    TO    HER    STEPMOTHER. 

LADY  HOPE  had  retreated  into  her  own  room,  for  the 
absence  of  her  husband  was  beginning  to  prey  upon  her; 
and  she  was  all  the  more  sad  and  lonely  because  she  knew 
in  her  heart  that  the  two  persons  whom  she  saw  together 
in  the  moonlight  were  thinking,  perhaps  talking,  of  the 
love  which  she  must  never  know  in  its  fullness  again— 
which  she  had  never  known  as  good  and  contented  wives 
experience  it. 

Indeed,  love  is  the  one  passion  that  can  neither  be 
wrested  from  fate  or  bribed  into  life.  It  must  spring  up 
from  the  heart,  like  a  wild  flower  from  seed  God  plants  in 
virgin  forest  soil,  to  bring  contentment  with  its  blossoming. 


LOVE-LIGHTS     IN     TWO     HEARTS.  31 

The  sunshine  which  falls  upon  it  must  be  pure  and  bright 
from  heaven.  Plant  it  in  an  atmosphere  of  sin,  and  that 
which  might  have  been  a  holy  passion  becomes  a  torment, 
bitter  in  proportion  to  its  strength. 

Ah  !  how  keenly  Rachael  Gloss  felt  all  this  as  she  sat  there 
alone  in  her  bower  room,  looking  wistfully  out  upon  those 
two  lovers,  both  so  dear  to  her  that  her  very  soul  yearned 
with  sympathy  for  the  innocent  love  she  had  never 
known,  and  never  could  know  upon  earth  !  Yet,  dear  as 
these  two  persons  were  to  her,  she  would  have  seen  that 
fair  girl  and  the  manly  form  beside  her  shrouded  in  their 
coffins,  if  that  could  have  brought  back  one  short  twelve- 
months of  the  passionate  insanity  which  had  won  Lord 
Hope  to  cast  aside  all  restraint  and  fiercely  wrench  apart 
the  most  sacred  ties  in  order  to  make  her  his  wife.  She 
asked  for  impossibilities.  Love  born  in  tumult  and  founded 
in  selfishness  must  have  its  reactions,  and  between  those  two 
the  shadow  of  a  wronged  woman  was  forever  falling;  and, 
struggle  as  they  would,  it  grew  colder  and  darker  every 
year.  But  upon  these  two  persons  time  operated  differ- 
ently. The  wild  impetuosity  of  his  character  had  hardened 
into  reserve.  His  ambition  was  to  stand  high  among  men 
of  his  own  class — to  be  known  as  a  statesman  of  power  in 
the  realm. 

But,  in  all  this  Rachael  knew  that  she  was  a  drawback 
and  a  heavy  weight  upon  his  aspirations.  Was  it  that  she 
was  less  bright  or  beautiful  ?  No,  no.  Her  mirror  contra- 
dicted the  one  doubt,  and  the  power  which  she  felt  in  her 
own  genius  rebuked  the  other. 

Once  give  her  a  foothold  among  the  men  and  women  who 
had  so  persistently  considered  her  as  an  intruder,  and  the 
old  vigor  and  pride  of  .her  life  would  come  back  with  it :  the 
idolatry  which  had  induced  that  infatuated  man  to  overlook 


32  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

these  stumbling  blocks  to  his  pride  and  impediments  to  his 
ambition  would  surely  revive. 

"  Let  him  see  me  at  court ;  let  him  compare  me  with  the 
women  whose  cutting  disdain  wounds  me  to  death,  because 
it  disturbs  him ;  let  him  place  me  where  this  intellect  can 
have  free  scope,  and  never  on  this  earth  was  there  a  woman 
who  would  work  out  a  husband's  greatness  so  thoroughly." 

In  the  first  years  of  her  marriage,  Eachael  would  say 
these  things  to  herself,  in  the  bitterness  of  her  humiliation 
and  disappointment.  Others,  less  beautiful  and  lacking  her 
talent,  had  been  again  and  again  introduced  from  lower 
ranks  into  the  nobility  of  England,  accepted  by  its  queen, 
and  honored  by  society.  Why  was  she  alone  so  persistently 
excluded  ?  The  answer  was  always  ready,  full  of  bitter- 
ness. The  enmity  of  old  Lady  Carset  had  done  it  all.  It 
was  her  influence  that  had  closed  the  queen's  drawing- 
room  against  Lord  Hope's  second  wife.  It  was  her  charge 
regarding  the  Carset  diamonds  that  had  made  Eachael 
shrink  from  wearing  the  family  jewels,  which  justly  be- 
longed to  her  as  Lord  Hope's  property.  It  was  this  which 
made  her  so  reluctant  to  pass  the  boundaries  of  Oakhurst. 
It  was  this  that  embittered  her  whole  life,  and  rendered  it 
one  long  humiliation. 

These  reflections  served  to  concentrate  the  hopes  and 
affections  of  this  woman  so  entirely  around  one  object,  that 
her  love  for  Hope,  which  had  been  an  overwhelming  pas- 
sion, grew  into  that  idolatry  no  man,  whose  life  was  in  the 
world,  could  answer  to,  for  isolation  was  necessary  to  a  feel- 
ing of  such  cruel  intensity. 

As  the  hope  of  sharing  his  life  and  his  honors  gave  way, 
doubts,  suspicions,  and  anxieties  grew  out  of  her  inordinate 
love,  and  the  greatest  sorrow  to  her  on  earth  was  the 
absence  of  her  husband.  It  was  not  alone  that  she  missed 
his  company,  which  was,  in  fact,  all  the  world  to  her  ;  but, 


CLARA'S    APPEAL.  33 

as  he  went  more  and  more  into  the  world,  a  terrible  dread 
seized  upon  her.  What  if  he  found,  among  all  the  highly 
born  women  who  received  him  so  graciously,  some  one  who, 
in  the  brightness  of  a  happy  life,  might  make  him  regret 
the  sacrifice  he  had  made  for  her,  the  terrible  scenes  he  had 
gone  through  in  order  to  obtain  her?  What  if  he  might 
yet  come  to  wish  her  dead,  as  she  sometimes  almost  wished 
herself ! 

In  this  way  the  love,  which  had  flowed  like  a  lava 
stream  through  that  woman's  life,  engendered  its  own  curse, 
and  her  mind  was  continually  haunted  by  apprehensions 
which  had  no  foundation,  in  fact,  for,  to  this  day,  Lurd 
Hope  loved  her  with  deeper  passion  than  he  had  ever  given 
to  that  better  woman ;  but  with  him  the  distractions  of 
statesmanship,  and  the  allurements  of  social  life,  were  a 
resource  from  intense  thought,  while  she  had  so  little  beside 
himself. 

She  had  striven  to  bind  him  to  her  by  kindness  to  his 
child,  until  the  bright  girl  became,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  him- 
self, with  whom  it  would  be  death  to  part. 

Is  it  strange,  then,  that  this  dream  of  uniting  Clara  to 
her  only  brother  should  have  been  very  sweet  to  the  un- 
happy woman  ? 

Lord  Hope  had  been  absent  a  whole  month  now,  and 
even  with  the  excitement  of  her  brother's  presence,  Kachael 
had  fouTTd  those  four  weeks  terribly  long. 

What  would  she  do  if  that  fair  girl  were  separated  from 
her  entirely?  Then  solitude  would  be  terrible  indeed  ! 

But  another  anxiety  came  upon  her  by  degrees.  In 
what  way  would  her  husband  receive  Hepworth  Gloss  ? 
How  would  he  accept  the  position  the  two  persons  out 
yonder  were  .drifting  into?  Would  he  consent  to  a  union 
which  even  her  partiality  admitted  as  unsuitable,  or  would 


34  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

he,  in  his  cold,  calm  way,  plant  his  foot  upon  their  hearts 
and  crush  her  fond  desire  out  of  existence  ? 

As  Lady  Hope  pondered  over  these  thoughts  in  silence 
and  semi-darkness,  Clara  came  through  the  window,  in 
great  excitement. 

"  Oh  !  mamma  Kachael !  He  is  going  away  from  us. 
He  told  me  so  just  now;  but  you  will  not  let  him.  You 
will  never  let  him  ! " 

Lady  Hope  started  out  of  her  reverie. 

"  Going  away  ?  Where  ?  Who  ?  I  cannot  understand, 
Clara!" 

"  Hepworth — Mr.  Gloss,  I  mean.  Ob,  mamma!  he 
threatens  to  leave  us  here  all  alone  by  ourselves — the  most 
cruel  thing  that  ever  was  heard  of.  I  thought  how  angry 
you  would  be,  and  came  at  once.  You  can  do  anything 
with  him — he  loves  you  so  dearly.  Let  him  threaten  if  he 
likes,  but  you  will  not  let  him  go.  You  will  tell  him  how 
foolish,  how  cruel  it  is  to  leave  us,  while  papa  is  away.  Oh ! 
mamma  Rachael,  you  can  do  anything !  Do  this !  Do 
this ! " 

"  But  why,  darling — why  do  you  care  so  much  ?  " 

"  Why !  why  ! "  Clara  threw  back  her  head  till  the 
curls  waved  away  from  her  shoulders,  then  a  burning  crim- 
son came  over  her,  the  shamed  face  drooped  again,  and  she 
answered  :  "  I  don't  know — I  don't  know." 

Rachael  bent  her  face  till  it  almost  touched  that  hot 
cheek,  and  whispered : 

"  Is  it  that  you  love  him,  my  own  Clara?  " 

Again  Clara  lifted  her  face.  A  strange  light  came  upon 
it.  Her  lips  were  parted,  her  blue  eyes  opened  wide. 

"  Love  him — love  him  ?  Oh  !  mamma  Rachael,  is  this 
love?" 

Rachael  smiled,  and  kissed  that  earnest  face,  holding  it 
between  both  hands. 


CLARA'S    APPEAL.  35 

"  I  think  it  is,  darling.  Nay,  I  am  sure  that  you  love 
him,  and  that  he  loves  you." 

11  Loves  me  ?  Then  why  does  he  go  away  ?  I  should 
think  so  but  for  that." 

"  Because  of  that,  I  am  afraid,  Clara." 

"  Loves  me,  and  goes  away  because  he  loves  me ! "  said 
the  girl,  bewildered.  "  I  don't  understand  it." 

"  There  may  be  many  reasons,  Clara." 

"  I  can't  think  of  one.  Indeed  I  can't.  Papa  never  was 
cruel." 

"  He  may  not  think  it  quite  honorable  to  let — make  you 
love  him,  when  your  father  knows  nothing  about  it." 

"  But  papa  would  not  mind." 

"  Hepworth  does  not  know  that ;  nor  do  I.  Your  father 
is  a  very  proud  man,  Clara,  and  has  a  right  to  look  high, 
for  his  only  child." 

"  What  then  ?  Mr.  Gloss  is  handsomer,  brighter,  more — 
more  everything  that  is  grand  and  royal,  than  any  noble- 
man I  have  ever  seen.  What  can  papa  say  against  that  ?  " 

"  But  he  is  a  man  of  no  family  position — simply  Hep- 
worth  Gloss,  nothing  more.  We  can  scarcely  call  him  an 
Englishman." 

"What  then,  mamma?  He  is  a  gentleman.  Who,  in 
all  this  neighborhood,  can  compare  with  him  ?  " 

"  No  one !  no  one ! "  answered  Kachael,  with  enthusiasm. 
"There  is  but  one  man  on  all  the  earth  so  far  above  the 
rest ;  but  persons  who  look  upon  birth  and  wealth  as  every- 
thing, may  not  see  him  with  our  eyes,  my  Clara.  Then 
there  is  another  objection.  Hepworth  is  over  thirty." 

"  Mamma  E/achael,  you  know  well  enough  that  I  never 
did  like  boys,"  said  Clara,  with  childish  petulance. 

"And  compared  with  the  great  landed  noblemen  of  Eng- 
land, he  is  poor." 

"  Not  so^  mamma  Kachael.  He  has  made  lota  and  lots 
2 


36  THE     OLD   COUNTESS. 

of  money  out  in  those  countries  where  they  dig  gold  from 
the  earth.  He  described  it  all  to  me,  about  washing  dirt 
in  pans,  and  crushing  rocks  in  great  machines,  and  picking 
up  pure  gold  in  nuggets — why,  he  found  an  awful  big  one 
himself.  I  daresay  he  has  got  more  real  money  than  papa. 
I  do,  indeed." 

Lady  Hope  sighed.  Perhaps  she  thought  so  too ;  for 
Oakhurst  was  closely  entailed,  and  ready  money  was  some- 
times scarce  in  that  sumptuous  dwelling. 

"And  then  how  much  shall  I  have  ?  Let  me  ask  that 
of  papa." 

"  But  you  will  inherit  something  with  the  Carset  title  in 
spite  of  your  grandmother." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  An  enormous  old  castle  with  just  land 
enough  to  keep  it  in  repair.  That  isn't  much  to  boast  of, 
or  make  a  man  like  Mr.  Gloss  feel  modest  when  he  thinks 
of  me." 

"  But  the  title.  Is  it  nothing  to  be  a  peeress  in  your 
own  right  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  he  were  an  earl,  and  I  a  peeress  in  his 
right." 

"  You  are  a  strange  girl,  Clara." 

"  But  you  love  me  if  I  am,  mamma  Rachael." 

"  Love  you,  child  !     You  will  never  know  how  much  ! 

"  And  if  it  so  happened  that  he  did  really  like  me,  you 
wouldn't  go  against  it  ?  " 

"  But  what  would  my  will  be  opposed  to  that  of  your 
father?" 

"  Only  this — you  can  do  anything  with  papa.  Don't  I 
remember  when  I  was  a  little  girl  ?  " 

Eachael  sighed  heavily. 

*'  That  was  a  long  time  ago,  Clara,  and  childish  wants 
are  easily  satisfied." 

Clara  threw  both  arms  around  her  stepmother's  neck 
and  kissed  her. 


CLARA'S    APPEAL.  37 

"  Never  mind  if  he  is  a  little  stubborn  now  and  then  ; 
you  can  manage  him,  yet,  mamma.  Only,  don't  let  Mr. 
Gloss  do  that  horrid  thing.  I  never  could  ride  alone  with 
the  ponies  after  the  last  three  weeks.  You  don't  know  how 
instructive  he  is !  Why,  we  have  travelled  all  over  the 
world  together,  and  now  he  wants  to  throw  me  overboard ; 
but  you  won't  let  him  do  that,  mamma  Rachael.  What 
need  is  there  of  any  thought  about  what  may  come?  We 
are  all  going  on  beautifully,  now,  and,  I  dare  say,  papa  is 
enjoying  himself  shooting  grouse.  When  he  comes  back 
and  sees  how  much  Mr.  Gloss  is  like  you,  everything  will 
be  right.  Only,  mamma  Rachael,  tell  me  one  thing.  Are 
you  sure  that — that  he  isn't  thinking  me  a  child,  and  likes 
me  only  for  that?  This  very  night  he  called  me  'my 
child,'  and  said  he  was  going.  That  made  me  wretchedly 
angry,  so  I  came  in  here.  Now  tell  me — " 

"  Hush  !  hush  !     I  hear  his  step  on  the  terrace." 

The  girl  darted  off  like  a  swallow.     For  the  whole  uni- 

srse  she  could  not  have  met  Hepworth  there  in  the  pres- 

ce  of  a  third  person. 

As  she  left  the  room,  Gloss  entered  it. 

"Rachael,"  he  said,  standing  before  his  sister,  in  the 
square  of  moonlight  cast  like  a  block  of  silver  through  the 
window,  "  I  have  been  weak  enough  to  love  this  girl  whom 
we  both  knew  as  an  infant,  when  I  was  old  enough  to  be  a 
worse  man  than  I  shall  ever  be  again ;  and,  still  more  rep- 
rehensible, I  have  told  her  of  it  within  the  last  half -hour; 
a  pleasant  piece  of  business,  which  Lord  Hope  will  be  likely 
to  relish.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  I  do  not  know — I  cannot  tell.  Hope  loves  his  daugh- 
ter, and  has  never  yet  denied  anything  to  her.  He  may 
not  like  it  at  first ;  but — oh  !  Hepworth,  I  know  almost  as 
little  of  my  husband's  feelings  or  ideas  as  you  can." 

"  But  you  will  not  think  that  I  have  done  wrong  ?  " 


38  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"What,  in  loving  Clara?  What  man  on  earth  could 
help  it  ?  " 

"Well,  I  do  love  her,  and  I  think  she  loves  me." 

"  I  know  she  does." 

"  Thank  you,  sister;  but  she  is  such  a  child." 

'•'  She  is  woman  enough  to  he  firm  and  faithful." 

"  You  approve  it  all,  then  ?  " 

Hepworth  sat  down  by  his  sister  and  threw  his  arui 
around  her. 

"  My  poor  Eachael !  how  I  wish  this,  or  anything  else, 
could  make  you  really  happy  !  " 

She  did  not  answer;  b^.,he  felt  her  form  trembling 
under  his  arm. 

"  But  1  only  see  in  it  new  troubles  for  you  and  dishonor 
for  myself.  There  is  really  but  one  way  for  me  to  act — 1 
must  leave  this  place." 

"And  Clara?  After  what  you  have  said,  that  would, 
indeed,  be  dishonorable." 

"  She  is  so  young ;  the  pain  would  all  go  with  me.  In 
few  months  I  shall  probably  have  scarcely  a  place  in  h 
memory." 

"  You  wrong  the  dearest  and  finest  girl  in  the  whole 
world  when  you  say  that,  Hepworth !  To  desert  her  now 
would  be  profound  cruelty." 

"  Then  in  what  way  am  I  to  act?  " 

"Write  to  Lord  Hope;  tell  him  the  truth  —  that  you 
have  won  the  respect  of  men  by  your  actions,  and  have, 
with  your  own  energies,  acquired  wealth  enough  to  make 
you  a  fair  match  in  that  respect  for  his  daughter.  Make 
no  allusion  to  the  past ;  he  is  proud,  and  terribly  sensitive 
on  that  point,  and  might  suspect  you  of  making  claims  to 
equality  because  of  it." 

Hepworth  smiled  as  he  stood  before  her  in  the  moonlight, 
and  she  saw  it.  Wide  travel  and  experience  among  men 


CLARA'S    APPEAL.  39 

had  led  him  to  think  that,  after  all,  the  highest  level  of 
humanity  did  not  always  range  with  hereditary  titles ;  but 
he  only  said,  very  calmly : 

"  Lord  Hope  cannot  accuse  me  justly  of  aspiring  where 
he  is  concerned." 

Rachael  felt  the  hot  crimson  leap  to  her  face.  Did  Hep- 
worth  dare  to  equal  himself  with  Lord  Hope,  the  one  great 
idol  of  her  own  perverted  life  ?  She  answered,  angrily,  for- 
getting that  the  sinner  was  her  only  brother: 

"  Lord  Hope  need  have  no  fear  that  any  man  living  will 
so  aspire." 

"  Poor  foolish  girl !"  said  Hepworth,  feeling  the  flash  of 
her  black  eyes,  and  touched  ^th  pity,  rather  than  anger, 
by  her  quick  resentment.  "  Do  not  let  us  quarrel  about 
Hope.  If  he  makes  you  happy,  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  him." 

"  Happy  !  happy !  " 

Rachael  shrank  back  in  her  seat,  uttering  these  two 
words  in  a  voice  so  full  of  pathetic  sorrow,  that  it  brought 
the  pain  of  coming  tears  into  Hepworth's  eyes.  He  was 
glad  to  turn  the  subject. 

"  Then  you  are  not  willing  that  I  should  go  away  ?  " 

"  It  would  almost  kill  me  to  lose  you  again,  Hepworth." 

The  young  man  felt  that  she  spoke  the  truth ;  the  very 
tones  of  her  voice  thrilled  him  with  a  tender  conviction. 

"  I  will  write  to  Hope,"  he  said ;  "  it  must  end  in  that 
or  absence.  It  shall  not  be  my  fault,  Rachael,  if  I  ever  go 
far  away  from  you  again." 

Lady  Hope  took  her  brother's  hand  between  hers. 

"  That  is  kind,  and  I  really  think  the  only  wise  thing  to 
be  done,"  she  said.  "  Hope  knows  that  you  were  born  a 
gentleman," 

"And  having  married  into  the  family  himself,  ean  hardly 
say  that  it  is  not  good  enough  for  his  daughter.  This  id 


40  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

answer  enough  for  all  objections  of  that  kind.  In  fact, 
Kachael,  I  begin  to  think  we  can  make  out  a  tolerable 
claim.  Now  that  we  have  decided  on  the  letter,  I  will 
write  it  at  once,  here,  if  you  will  let  me  order  more  lights." 

Hepworth  rang  the  bell  as  he  spoke,  and  directly  wax 
candles  were  burning  on  the  ebony  desk  at  which  Lady 
Hope  was  accustomed  to  write. 

Having  made  up  his  mind,  Gloss  was  not  the  man  to 
hesitate  in  doing  the  thing  he  had  resolved  on.  He  spread 
a  sheet  of  paper  before  him,  and  began  his  letter  at  once. 
Kachael  watched  him  earnestly  as  his  pen  flew  over  the 
paper. 

For  the  first  time  she  realfted,  with  a  pang  of  apprehen- 
sion, the  step  she  was  so  blindly  encouraging.  What  if 
Lord  Hope  took  offense  at  the  letter,  or  should  condemn 
her  for  the  intimacy  which  had  led  to  it  ?  She  was  afraid 
of  her  husband,  and  each  movement  of  Hepworth's  pen 
struck  her  with  dread.  Had  she,  indeed,  laid  herself  open 
to  the  wrath  of  a  man,  who  was  so  terrible  in  his  anger, 
that  it  made  even  her  brave  heart  cower? 

"There,  it  is  finished,"  said  Hepworth,  addressing  his 
letter,  and  flinging  down  the  pen.  "Now  let  us  throw 
aside  care,  and  be  happy  as  we  can  till  the  answer  conies." 

Lady  Hope  sighed  heavily,  and,  reaching  forth  her  hand, 
bade  him  good-night. 


CHAPTER  III. 
LOVER'S  QUARREL. 


THEY  were  sitting  together,  under  the  great  cedar  tree, 
declared  lovers  j  perhaps  not  the  less  happy  because  some 


LOVER  S'     QUARREL.  41 

little  doubt  rested  over  their  future,  so  far  as  the  young  lady 
was  concerned. 

As  for  Hepworth  Gloss,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
expect  difficulties,  and  knew  how  to  conquer  them,  if  human 
ingenuity  could  do  it.  He  loved  the  bright  young  creature, 
and  had  resolved  within  himself  that  no  unreasonable 
opposition  on  the  part  of  his  former  friend  should  prevent 
him  marrying  her,  while  there  was  a  possibility  of  concilia- 
ting his  bride,  or  working  upon  the  love  which  he  had 
always  evinced  for  his  child. 

Hepworth  had  learned,  from  conversation  with  both  the 
ladies,  that  the  Lord  Hope  of  the  present  day  was  a  very 
different  person  from  the  rash,  headstrong,  audacious  young 
man  whom  he  had  almost  threatened  with  disgrace  fourteen 
years  back. 

Then  he  was  ready  to  cast  wealth,  rank,  conscience,  every- 
thing, aside  for  the  gratification  of  any  wild  passion  that 
beset  him.  Now  he  held  the  rank  to  which  he  was  born 
sacred  above  all  things ;  was  careful,  if  not  covetous,  of 
wealth,  because  it  added  power  to  rank;  and  was  known  the 
whole  country  round  as  one  of  the  proudest  noblemen  and 
most  punctilious  magistrates  in  the  three  kingdoms. 

This  man's  daughter  he — Hepworth  Gloss — desired  to 
make  his  wife.  Nay,  in  spite  of  fate,  meant  to  make  his 
wife,  unless  she,  in  her  own  self,  cast  his  love  from  her. 
Having  settled  upon  this,  he  cast  off  all  care,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  the  supreme  happiness  of  loving  and  being 
beloved. 

So,  as  the  two  sat  under  the  cedar  tree,  that  bland  autumn 
day,  Glara  thought,  in  her  wilful  little  heart,  that  the  man 
looked  too  confident  and  happy.  She  had  no  idea  of  settling 
down  into  a  commonplace  engagement,  sanctioned  or  un- 
sauctioued.  What  business  had  be  to  look  so  supremely 


42  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

contented  ?    Did  he  not  know  that  girls  sometimes  changed 
their  minds  ? 

In  short,  Lady  Clara  was  in  a  wilful  mood,  and  could  be 
provoking  enough  when  the  fit  came  on  her.  Just  now  she 
was  embroidering  diligently.  The  golden  stamens  of  a  su- 
perb cactus  glowed  out  stitch  by  stitch,  as  her  needle  flew 
in  and  out  of  its  great  purplish  and  crimson  leaves. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  up,  Clara  ?  I  haven't  seen  your 
eyes  these  ten  minutes." 

"  Indeed !  Well,  I'm  too  busy.  Pray  hand  me  a  thread 
of  that  yellow  silk." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,  ladybird.  It's  very  tiresome  sit- 
ting here,  only  to  watch  your  sharp  little  needle  as  it  drops 
color  into  that  great  flower.  One  never  gets  a  sight  of  your 
full  face." 

"  Then  you  don't  like  the  profile  ? "  said  Clara,  de- 
murely, and  her  needle  flashed  almost  into  Hepworth's 
eyes  as  he  bent  over  her.  ".JThat  is  just  what  I  expected. 
It  isn't  three  days  since  you  first  pretended  to  care  for 
me." 

"Pretended!  Clara?" 

"  That  was  the  word,"  answered  Clara,  holding  her  work 
at  arms'  length,  and  examining  it,  with  her  head  on  one 
side,  like  a  bird  eyeing  the  cherry  he  longs  to  peck  at. 
"  Lovely,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  where  you  could  gather  armsful  of  them 
from  the  wayside,"  answered  Hepworth.  "That  is  well 
enough,  of  course,  for  silk  and  worsted  ;  but  you  never  can 
get  that  mixture  of  crimson,  purple  and  glittering  steel, 
that  makes  the  flower  so  regal  in  the  tropics ;  then  the  soft 
tassel  of  pale  gold,  streaming  out  from  the  heart,  and 
thrown  into  relief  by  this  exquisite  combination  of  colors. 
Ah,  some  day  I  will  show  you  what  a  cactus  really  is, 
Clara." 


LOVERS'    QUARREL.  43 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  provoking  girl,  searching  her  work- 
basket  for  the  silk  she  wanted.  "  Who  knr.ws  ?  " 

A  flash  of  color  flew  across  Hepworth's  forehead.  The 
handsome  fellow  never  had  given  himself  much  to  the 
study  of  women,  and  even  that  pretty  creature  had  the 
power  to  annoy  huw,  mature  man  as  he  was.  She  saw  that 
he  was  vexed,  and  rather  liked  it;  for  if  the  truth  must  be 
told,  a  more  natural  coquette  never  lived  than  Lady 
Clara. 

"Are  you  beginning  to  doubt,  Clara  ?  " 

"  Doubt  ?  Oh  !  not  at  all.  I  don't  honestly  believe  that 
there  ever  was  a  more  perfect  flower  than  that.  See  how 
the  colors  melt  into  each  other;  then  the  point  of  that  long, 
prickly  leaf  coming  out  behind.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Gloss,  it's 
perfect." 

She  was  looking  down  at  her  work,  and  he  could  not 
detect  all  the  mischief  that  sparkled  under  her  drooping 
lashes. 

"  Clara,  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  so  innocently. 

"  Mean  ?     Why,  it  means  a  cactus-flower." 

Hepworth  Gloss  had  never  been  a  patient  man,  and  the 
feelings  which  that  wild  girl  had  awakened  in  his  heart  were 
all  too  earnest  for  such  trifling.  He  rose  to  leave  her. 
Then  she  gave  him  a  side  glance,  half  comic,  half  repent- 
ant. 

"Are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Dear  me,  I  am  so  sorry,  because  I  wanted  to  tell  you 
something." 

The  girl  spoke  and  acted  like  a  penitent  child.  Hep- 
worth  sat  down  again,  but  his  face  was  clouded. 

"  You  can  do  anything  with  mamma  Eachael,-and  I  want 
ou  to  ask  a  great  favor  for  me." 


44  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"Why  not  ask  yourself?  My  sister  denies  you  noth- 
ing." 

"But  this  is  something  peculiar,  and  she  may  think  papa 
would  not  like  it.  There  is  to  be  a  new  opera  brought  out 
in  London,  and  such  a  lovely  girl  is  to  make  her  first  ap- 
pearance in  it,  handsome  as  the  morning,  and  with  a  voice 
like  ten  thousand  nightingales.  Now,  I  do  so  want  to  hear 
her  on  the  first  night." 

"  Well,  that  is  easy." 

"  Yes,  yes — if  mamma  Eachael  would  only  think  so.  But 
papa  is  awful  particular,  and  she  may  be  afraid  to  take  me. 
But  with  you  for  an  escort,  there  can't  really  be  any  harm  ; 
BO  I  want  your  help." 

"  But  how  did  you  know  about  this  ?  I  have  not  seen  it 
in  the  journals." 

"  No,  it  hasn't  got  abroad  yet.  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it.  When  I  was  a  very,  very  little  girl,  my  poor  mother 
died  in  America,  where  she  was  travelling  among  the  Indi- 
ans, I  believe,  with  my  father.  Well,  you  see  how  hard  it 
was  on  papa  to  be  left  with  a  poor  little  girl  among  the  sav- 
ages. I  do  not  know  just  how  it  was ;  but  when  he  mar- 
ried mamma  Rachael,  ever  so  long  after,  of  course  she  got 
an  American  nurse  in  New  York,  who  has  been  with  me 
ever  since.  I  call  her  my  maid  now,  and  won't  have  any 
other,  French  or  not — for  she's  good  as  gold,  and  loves  me 
dearly.  You  will  believe  that  when  I  tell  you  our  head 
gf  rue-keeper  wanted  to  marry  her — she  loved  him,  too,  but 
wouldn't  leave  me.  Margaret  left  a  sister  behind  in  New 
York  that  she  was  very  fond  of,  and  has  been  pining  to  see 
for  years.  Just  before  you  came  she  received  a  letter  from 
London,  saying  that  her  sister  was  there,  travelling  with 
some  lady  connected  with  the  stage,  and  asking  Mar- 
garet to  come  and  visit  her.  Of  course,  Margaret  went, 
and  has  been  all  this  time  on  a  long  visit  to  her  relative, 


LOVERS'     QUARREL.  45 

who  came  to  Europe  with  the  great  prima  donna,  Olympia. 
It  is  her  adopted  daughter  that  is  coming  out." 

"Olympia.  Yes,  I  saw  her  in  America  last  year — a 
wonderfully  beautiful  creature,  in  a  certain  way;  but  her 
style  of  acting  is  not  exactly  what  I  should  choose  for  you, 
Lady  Clara,  though  her  voice  is  wonderful." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  her  I  care  about,  but  the  young  lady.  Mar- 
garet says  she  is  lovely  as  an  angel,  with  a  heavenly  voice, 
but  that  she  is  frightened  to  death  at  coming  on  the  stage, 
and  begs  and  pleads  with  her  mother  not  to  insist  on  it; 
but  Olympia  is  determined.  My  heart  quite  aches  for  this 
poor  girl.  She  is  about  my  age,  Margaret  says,  and  so 
beautiful — not  a  bit  like  me.  I  dare  say  it's  true,  for  I 
would  give  the  world  to  be  an  actress,  and  have  the  whole 
world  go  mad  over  my  singing.  By-the-way,  Mr.  Gloss,  do 
you  know  that  I  can  sing  ?  Mamma  Rachael  often  says, 
if  I  were  not  a  lad}',  I  might  go  on  the  stage  and  beat  half 
the  prima  donnas ;  besides,  she  says,  I  am  a  natural  actress, 
and  that  seems  to  displease  her." 

"I  think  you  are  a  natural  actress,"  said  Gloss,  with  a 
tinge  of  sarcasm,  for  this  whole  subject  displeased  him,  he 
scarcely  could  have  told  why. 

"  Now  you  mean  to  be  unkind,"  said  Clara,  rising,  with 
a  warm  flush  iu  her  cheeks;  "I  will  not  ask  another  favor 
of  you." 

Clara  gathered  up  her  embroidery,  and  prepared  to  leave 
the  sheltered  seat  iu  which  this  conversation  had  been  held. 
She  certainly  was  not  acting  now,  for  Gloss  saw  that  her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Clara,"  he  said,  holding  out  both  hands;  "Clara,  for- 
give me." 

She  hesitated  a  minute,  then  set  down  her  basket,  and 
crept  close  to  his  side,  wiping  the  tears  with  one  hand, 


46  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

while  he  clasped  the  other.     Then  she  snatched  her  hand 
away,  and  held  it  behind  her. 

«  No— I  won't  forgive  you." 

"  Not  if  I  persuade  Lady  Hope  to  take  you  up  to  London 
for  this  appearance  ?  " 

"Ah,  then,  perhaps." 

"And  go  with  you  myself?" 

"  That  will  be  splendid." 

"  That  Olympia  is  a  magnificent  creature.  I  took  supper 
with  her  once  in  New  York." 

"  You,  Mr.  Gloss!     You  took  supper  with  her  ?  " 

"  She  sang  for  us  that  night,  divinely." 

"And  you  admire  her  so  much  ?  " 

"Very  much." 

"  Mr.  Closs,  I  do  not  think  I  care  to  go.  There  is  no 
need  of  your  asking  Lady  Hope — I  decline  the  whole 
thing." 

"  Still,  I  think  we  will  go,  Clara,  if  it  is  only  to  show  you 
how  much  a  woman  can  be  worshipped,  and  yet  despised. 
Yes,  yes,  we  will  go  and  hear  Olympia  sing." 

But  Clara  was  not  to  be  so  easily  appeased.  She 
gathered  up  her  worsted  and  embroidery,  huddled  them  to- 
gether in  her  work-basket  and  went  away,  refusing  to  let 
Closs  carry  her  basket,  or  even  walk  by  her  side. 

While  he  stood  watching  the  haughty  little  thing,  a 
voice  from  the  other  side  of  the  cedar  tree  arrested  him. 
He  turned,  and  saw  a  face  that  had  once  been  familiar,  but 
which  he  could  not  at  the  moment  recognize. 

The  woman  came  forward  with  a  startled  look.  She  was 
evidently  past  thirty,  and  had  an  air  of  independence, 
which  he  had  never  seen  in  an  English  domestic. 

She  came  closer,  their  eyes  met,  and  he  knew  that  it  was 
Maggie  Casey,  the  chambermaid  who  had  led  him  up  to 


LOVERS'     QUARREL.  47 

that  death-chamber,  the  last  tima  he  visited  it.  She  had 
recognized  him  from  the  first. 

"  Mr.  Hepworth,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice:  "Mr.  Hep- 
worth  ! " 

Closs  had  almost  been  prepared  for  this,  and  did  not 
allow  himself  to  be  taken  by  surprise. 

"  You  have  got  half  the  name  right  at  any  rate,"  he 
said,  quietly ;  "  Hepworth  Closs,  and  you  have  it  com- 
plete. You  never  could  have  heard  it  in  full,  when  you 
lived  in  New  York,  I  fancy." 

"Closs,  Closs?  ,No,  I  never  heard  that  name  given  to 
you ;  but  it  once  belonged  to  Lady  Hope,  I  remember." 

"And  of  course,  naturally  belongs  to  her  brother,  my  good 
girl,"  said  Closs,  with  a  quiet  smile." 

"  Her  brother  ?  Whose  brother  ?  Not  the  Lady  that 
was — " 

The  girl  broke  off,  and  her  voice  died  in  a  low  whisper. 

"  No,  no ! "  broke  in  the  man,  with  sudden  impatience ; 
"  that  was  a  terrible  thing,  which  you  and  I  will  be  all  the 
happier  in  forgetting.  The  poor  woman  who  did  it  is  suf- 
fering a  hard  penalty,  if  she  is  not  in  fact  dead." 

"  Yes,  sir,  yes ;  but  how  came  her  grandchild  here  ? 
How  came  you  there  ?  " 

"  Hush ! "  said  Hepworth,  in  a  voice  of  command,  that 
Btartbd  the  woman  ;  "  who  gave  you  authority  to  ask  such 
questions  ?  What  can  you  know  about  the  old  woman's 
grandchild  ?  " 

"I  know  that  the  young  lady  who  left  you  ten  minutes 
ago  was  the  little  girl  they  called  her  grandchild.  I  saw 
the  coroner  holding  the  poor  little  thing  up  to  look  on  the 
dead  lady.  I  think  that  lady  was  her  mother." 

"And  have  told  her  so,  perhaps?  " 

"No;  1  never  did,  and  I  never  will.     She  called  the  old 


48  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

woman.  Yates,  grandnlother;  but  I  know  better  than  that, 
for  I  know  wliere  her  grandchild  is  this  very  minute." 

"  You  know  her  grandchild  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,  and  a  prettier  creature  never  lived." 

"You  know  her,  and  will  tell  me?" 

"Indeed,  I  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  answered  Mar- 
garet, for  she  had  thrown  off  the  jaunty  abbreviation  of  her 
name.  There  is  something  about  all  this  that  puzzles  me. 
People  that  I  never  expected  to  see  again  keep  crossing  my 
path  like  ghosts,  and  somehow  most  of  them  have  something 
to  do  with  that  time.  Why  can't  the  whole  thing  rest  ? 
I'm  sure  that  poor  old  woman,  Yates,  has  had  her  punish- 
ment, and  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  what  I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"  You  are  wise,"  said  Gloss,  whose  face  had  lost  all  its 
cheerfulness  ;  "  there  is  no  good  in  even  thinking  of  a  dead 
past,  and,  as  you  say,  that  poor  old  woman  has  her  punish- 
ment. I  am  glad  you  have  said  nothing  of  these  things  to 
my  sister,  or  Lady  Clara." 

"Why  should  I?"  said  Margaret,  with  shrewd  good 
sense  :  "  what  good  would  it  do  ?  In  fact,  what  do  I  know  ? 
I  only  hope  no  such  trouble  will  ever  come  to  this  house." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  said  Closs,  fervently,  and  the  two 
parted. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   ITALIAN   TEACHER. 


LADY  Clara  was  right.  Olympia  had  brought  her  daugh- 
ter to  London  after  a  professional  tour  on  the  continent,  not 
as  her  daughter.  Olympia  would  not  force  herself  to  admit 


THE     ITALIAN     TEACHER.  49 

that  the  tall  Juno-like  girl,  who  outshone  her  in  beauty,  and 
rebuked  her  flippant  grace  by  a  dignity  at  once  calm  and 
regal,  could,  by  any  possibility,  be  her  own  offspring,  at 
least  as  yet.  She  had  arranged  it  with  Brown  that  no 
public  acknowledgment  of  Caroline's  relationship  should  be 
made,  and  that  she  should  pass  as  an  adopted  child  or  pro- 
tege, at  least  until  her  success  on  the  operatic  stage  was 
confirmed. 

Brown  had  stipulated,  on  his  part,  that  the  girl  should 
receive  her  musical  training  in  strict  privacy,  so  far  as  that 
was  possible,  and,  in  no  case,  should  be  moved  from  his  per- 
sonal supervision,  a  condition  that  Olympia  accepted  with 
delight,  for,  after  a  month  or  two,  she  began  to  feel  the 
presence  of  her  cast-off  husband  something  of  a  restraint, 
and  regarded  the  quick  growth  and  blooming  loveliness  of 
the  young  girl  as  almost  a  wrong  to  her  own  ripe  beauty. 
Still  she  would  not  loosen  her  hold  as  a  parent  on  the  girl's 
life,  but  still  hoped  to  reap  a  golden  harvest  from  her  talent, 
and  sun  her  own  charms,  as  they  waned,  in  the  splendor 
of  her  child's  beauty. 

With  these  feelings,  Olmypia  opened  her  campaign  in 
Europe,  and  swept  a  brilliant  career  from  France  to  Italy, 
and  from  thence  to  Austria  and  St.  Petersburg,  leaving 
Caroline  with  her  guardian  and  maid,  in  a  village  near  Flo- 
rence, where  she  could  perfect  herself  iu  Italian  and  music 
at  the  same  time. 

There  Caroline's  life  really  began.  They  were  staying  at 
a  pretty  villa,  terraced  up  from  the  banks  of  a  bright  little 
stream,  that  emptied  itself  into  the  Arno,  so  isolated  and 
lonely,  that  it  was  perfect  heaven  to  Brown,  who  was  set 
down  at  once  as  the  young  lady's  father,  and  to  Eliza,  who 
delighted  in  the  chance  of  rest  this  arrangement  promised. 

While  in  Florence,  Brown  had  taken  his  charge  to  one  of 
the  best  teachers  in  Europe,  who  consented  to  break  through 


50  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

his  usual  rules  and  give  her  lessons  in  the  pretty  home  she 
had  decided  on.  He  would  also  charge  himself  with  select- 
ing a  teacher  of  the  language,  who  should  make  her  pro- 
nunciation of  the  sweet  Tuscan  perfect  as  her  voice,  which 
was,  in  fact,  something  wonderful. 

Some  persons  were  in  the  musician's  room  when  these 
arrangements  were  made,  and  one  of  them,  a  young  man> 
drew  slowly  toward  the  piano,  like  a  bird  charmed  against 
its  will,  and  listened  with  rapt  attention  while  Caroline 
took  her  first  lesson.  The  girl  looked  up  once  or  twice,  as 
her  voice  rang  out  with  unusual  power,  and  unconsciously 
answered  back  the  warm  smile  that  enkindled  his  whole  face. 
A  musician  himself — she  knew  by  the  very  expression  of  hia 
dark  eyes. 

Brown  saw  it  too,  and  was  delighted  with  the  effect  of 
her  genius;  which  he,  in  his  partial  affection,  deemed  traus- 
cendant. 

"He  is  a  professor,  I  dare  say,  or  perhaps  a  great  singer," 
thought  the  kind  old  man  ;  "but  she  charmed  him  at  once." 
Brown  was  confirmed  in  this  idea  when  the  eminent 
teacher  he  had  consulted  fell  into  a  discussion  with  the  man 
in  Italian,  which  Caroline  did  not  hear,  and  Brown  himself 
could  not  understand,  but  which  evidently  turned  upon 
Caroline's  performance.  They  were  both  delighted  with  it ; 
that  was  evident  from  the  very  ardor  with  which  they  spoke. 
Brown  was  pleased  with  all  this,  but  Caroline,  perhaps, 
remembered  it  with  greater  interest  than  he  had  felt,  for  the 
young  man's  face  haunted  her  long  after  she  was  settled  in 
the  pretty  villa,  and  had  made  herself  at  home  among  the 
vines  and  flowers  that  turned  those  terraces  into  a  jungle  of 
fruit  and  blossoms. 

Nothing  could  be  more  lovely  than  the  home  Brown  had 
chosen,  and  certainly  no  place  could  have  been  found  more 


THE     ITALIANTEACHER.  51 

completely  isolated.  The  coming  of  her  teachers  even 
became  a  matter  of  deep  interest  to  Caroline. 

One  morning,  when  her  language-master  was  expected, 
she  went  out  early  and  stocd  upon  the  lower  terrace,  look- 
ing down  the  little  stream  which  led  to  the  Arno,  as  I  have 
told  you,  impatient  for  his  coming;  impatient  to  know  what 
sort  of  a  person  he  would  prove,  and  if  his  society  might 
not  break  the  monotonous  stillness  of  that  beautiful  place. 
It  was  early  yet.  She  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  her 
new  teacher  would  he  there  for  hours.  She  felt  it  very  tire- 
some, walking  up  and  down  those  terraces  and  watching  the 
ripe  olives  drop  one  by  one  into  the  long  grass  from  the 
branches  overhead.  The  restlessness  of  youth  was  upon 
her,  and  she  longed  for  some  means  of  leaping  over  the  next 
three  hours,  when  the  new  teacher  would  come,  perhaps 
with  a  disappointment. 

He  might  be  some  poor  old  soul,  whose  very  presence 
would  prove  an  annoyance.  No  matter;  a  disappointment 
or  an  annoyance  was  better  than  utter  stagnation.  She 
wished  the  new  man  would  come,  she  wished  there  was 
something  for  her  to  work  at  till  he  did  come. 

A  flight  of  stone  steps  fell  down  to  the  water  from  the 
lower  terrace.  Fastened  to  an  iron  staple  sunk  deep  into 
the  granite,  was  a.  little  boat  swinging  by  a  cable.  Caro- 
line's heart  gave  a  leap  at  the  sight. 

She  ran  down  the  steps,  untied  the  cable,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment was  sweeping  down  the  little  stream,  pulling  her  oars 
like  an  Indian  girl. 

It  was  a  lovely  flow  of  water,  clear  as  crystal.  The  sky 
was  mirrored  in  it  softly  blue ;  the  sun  struck  it  with  ar- 
rows of  silver,  the  flowering  shrubs  trailed  down  from  its 
banks,  apd  rippled  the  waters  like  the  lost  plumage  of  a 
peacock  j  fruit-laden  vines  broke  away  from  the  olive 
branches,  and  dipped -their  purple  clusters  in  the  strenm, 
3 


52  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

where  they  shone  out  richly— amethysts  gleaming  through 
crystal.  Everything  was  beautiful  around  her.  Full  of 
youth  and  health  she  gloried  in  the  exercise  of  rowing; 
gloried  in  the  sunshine  and  quivering  shadows  through 
which  her  pretty  boat  ploughed  its  way,  breaking  up  pic- 
tured trees  and  clouds,  and  turning  them  to  foam. 

The  current  was  with  her,  the  wind  swept  softly  down 

Bam,  bringing  a  scent  of  wall-flowers  and  jessamines  with 
it.  The  boat  shot  downward  like  the  shuttle  through  a 
web.  The  water  deepened,  the  stream  grew  wider;  she 
could  hear  the  broad,  free  rush  of  the  Arno,  a  little  way 
off.  Still  she  went  on. 

It  would  be  glorious,  finding  herself  in  the  broad  river 
sweeping  toward  Florence,  in  her  arrow-like  boat.  Of 
course  she  could  turn  at  any  time,  but  not  yet. 

Something  stopped  the  boat.  A  wild  vine,  hidden  in 
the  water,  had  seized  upon  it,  and  swept  it  half  around, 
then  a  current  tossed  it  forward  into  a  sweeping  whirl  of 
waters.  She  was  close  by  a  vortex  near  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  a  ravenous  little  whirlpool  that  threatened  to  swal- 
low her  up.  The  oars  dropped  from  her  hands  ;  she  seized 
the  sides  of  her  boat  and  sat  still,  rigid  as  stone,  white  as 
death.  Then  a  great  arrow,  or  what  seemed  to  be  one,  shot 
through  the  water  close  by  her,  ploughing  it  white  with 
foam.  Then  a  man  leaped  into  her  boat,  pitching  a  pair  of 
n=t  oars  in  before  him,  and  holding  the  cable  of  another  boat 
in  his  hand. 

He  neither  spoke  nor  looked  at  her,  but  twisting  the 
cable  around  one  ankle,  and  setting  the  other  foot  upon  it 
further  up,  seized  his  oars,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  battled 
like  a  tiger  with  the  waters. 

The  boat  rocked,  wheeled  slowly  away  from  the  awful  dan- 
ger, then  plunged  forward  with  a  shock  that  brought  a  sharp 
cry  from  Caroline's  white  lips. 


THE     ITALIAN     TEACHER.  53 

"  Do  not  be  afraid.     The  danger  is  over." 

She  turned  her  pallid  face,  and  over  it  came  a  flash  of 
recognition.  It  was  the  man  who  had  listened  to  her  first 
lesson  in  Florence.  He  recognized  her,  pale  as  she  was, 
and  slackened  his  oars — they  were  out  of  danger  now. 

"Am  I  so  fortunate  ?  My  pupil !  This  is  a  great  hap- 
piness." 

Caroline  leaned  forward  and  held  out  her  trembling 
hands.  Words  of  gratitude  were  on  her  lips,  but  they 
only  trembled  there,  without  utterance.  He  leaned  over 
the  little  hands,  as  they  came  quivering  toward  him,  but 
could  not  touch  them,  his  own  being  sufficiently  occupied 
with  the  oars. 

"There  is  nothing  to  fear  now  sweet  lady,"  he  said,  in 
Italian,  which  never  sounded  so  sweet  to  her  before  "The 
danger  is  wliolly  past — but  it  was  danger  !  " 

Caroline  shuddered  ;  she  almost  felt  those  curling  waters 
sweep  over  her.  The  sensation  was  terrible. 

"  And  you  saved  me  ? — you,  whose  face  I  have  seen  before 
so  often,  so  often.  It  seems  like  that  of  a  friend." 

"  Once — only  once.  I  wish  it  had  been  a  thousand  times, 
if  that  could  lessen  your  fright." 

"  Tell  me  how  it  was,"  said  Caroline,  beginning  to  recover 
herself.  "  I  cannot  realize  it." 

"Nor  I,  sweet  lady,  it  was  all  so  sudden.  I  saw  a  boat 
whirling  toward  that  treacherous  vortex,  the  flash  of  a  blue 
mantle,  the  whiteness  of  an  upturned  face.  What  I  did, 
you  know.  I  cannot  tell  how  it  was  done  ;  did  not  dream 
who  the  person  was.  Now,  I  long  to  fall  upon  my  knees 
and  thank  God." 

Caroline  clasped  the  hands  which  had  fallen  to  her  lap, 
bent  her  head,  and  unspoken  words  of  thanksgiving 
trembled  in  her  heart.  The  man  looked  upon  her  eagerly. 


54  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

That  gentle  glow  of  devotion  gave  her  face  the  sweetness 
of  a  madonna. 

He  thought  this,  and  almost  dropped  the  oars,  the  long- 
ing to  fall  down  upon  his  knees  by  her  side  was  so  in- 
tense. Bp"  . 

She  saw  this,  understood  it,  and  smiled  for  the  first 
time. 

"1  was  asking  God  to  forgive  me  for  being  gtateful  to 
you  before  I  thought  of  Him. 

"And  I  was  asking  Him  to  make  me  grateful  enough  for 
having  saved  you.  Surely  that  should  bring  his  blessing  on. 
us  both."  ^. 

Caroline  bent  her  head,  and  a  sweet  smile  crept  over  her 
lips.  Then  she  bethought  herself  of  the  things  of  this 
world,  and  grew  troubled. 

"But  1  am  taking  you  from  your  "cltarse*.  Forgive 
me!" 

"  From  my  course  ?  Not  so.  It  was  for  this  purpose  I 
come.  Perhaps  you  are  not  informed  that  I  am  to  make 
your  Italian  more  perfect  than  it  is,  which  is  scarcely 
needed." 

"You  sir!— you?" 

She  said  no  more,  but  her  face  lighted  up,  and  he  saw 
her  hands  softly  clasp  themselves,  as  if  she  were  thanking 
God  over  again.  Then  his  own  head  bent  forward,  and  he 
made  a  great  effort  with  the  oars,  but  it  was  only  to  hide 
the  smile  that  broke  over  it. 

So  up  the  little  river  these  two  people  went  more  and  more 
slowly,  for  the  stillness  and  the  beauty  were  pleasant  beyond 
anything,  and  both  dreaded  the  moment  when  this  delicious 
happiness  would  end.  But  they  reached  the  steps  at  last, 
and  there  was  Mr.  Brown  and  Eliza,  on  the  lower  terrace, 
in  great  trouble. 

They  had  missed  her   and   the   boat.      Dreading   they 


THE     ITALIAN     TEACHER.  55 

scarcely  knew  what  danger,  both  were  anxious  to  follow 
her,  but  they  had  no  means.  Thus  an  hour  of  keen 
anxiety  had  passed,  while  they  stood  watching  the  river. 

"There  is  your  father,  looking  anxious,"  said  the  young 
man.  "I  hope  he  has  not  suffered  much." 

Caroline  did  not  answer  him,  but  sprang  to  the  steps 
and  ran  up  them,  holding  out  her  hands. 

"  My  child  !  my  dear,  dear  child !  "  cried  Brown,  throw- 
ing both  arms  around  her. 

He  often  used  endearing  terms  like  this  when  much 
affected,  and  she  thought  nothing  of  it,  but  kissed  his  face, 
and  kissed  Eliza  also,  who  scolded  her  terribly,  as  was  her 
habit  when  disturbed  by  a  sudden  fit  of  tenderness  —  a 
state  of  feeling  she  was  sure  to  resent. 

"  Father  Brown,  this  is  my  new  teacher.  The  professor 
aent  him.  fie  has  just  saved  my  life.  I  have  tried  to  thank 
him,  but  could  not.  You  have  more  power." 

Brown  and  Eliza  both  came  close  to  the  young  man ;  but 
he  shook  his  head,  and  tried  to  evade  them.  After  her 
tender  thankfulness,  their  gratitude,  generous  and  pure  as 
it  was,  seemed  coarse  to  him. 

"We  must  begin  the  lesson,"  he  said,  laughing,  and 
drawing  a  book  from  his  pocket.  "This  little  accident, 
which  was  nothing,  has  made  us  lose  time." 

He  said  this  in  Italian,  which,  of  course,  silenced  them  ; 
and  at  this  moment  the  man  could  say  nothing  which  his 
companion  would  not  confirm. 

Caroline  smiled,  and  went  up  the  steps  from  terrace  to 
terrace,  while  he  kept  by  her  side.  Her  color  had  come 
back  more  vividly  than  ever.  The  sunshine  struck  her 
hair,  and  turned  all  its  brown  to  gold.  She  jvas  dressed 
like  a  peasant  of  the  better  class,  with  some  scarlet  in  her 
blue  bodice,  and  more  bordering  the  bottom  of  her*  skirt, 
Her  neck  was  uncovered,  for  the  blue  mantle  had  fallen  off 


56  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

and  now  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  It  was  a  becoming 
dress,  but  not  for  her — she  was  too  queenly. 

They  went  into  that  old  stone  dwelling,  forming  one 
group;  but  the  moment  the  parlor  was  reached,  Eliza  went 
off  to  her  work,  she  said — but  if  any  one  had  followed  her, 
it  would  have  been  to  a  chamber  under  the  roof,  where  she 
was  upon  her  knees  fnll  twenty  minutes,  thanking  God  for 
Caroline's  escape  from  death. 

Then  Brown  went  away,  and  seated  himself  in  an  arbor 
on  one  of  the  terraces,  where  he  was  seen  once  or  twice  to 
take  out  his  handkerchief  and  wipe  his  eyes,  as  if  the  dust 
troubled  him. 

The  man  up  yonder,  brave  as  he  was,  had  rather  evaded 
his  gratitude ;  but  he  knew  that  God  would  listen. 

Then  Caroline  took  one  of  the  volumes  her  new  teacher 
had  brought,  and  retreated  to  a  latticed  window,  which  had 
a  cushioned  seat  in  it  large  enough  for  two,  though  I  really 
do  not  believe  she  thought  of  that.  At  any  rate,  he  did  not 
accuse  her  of  it,  even  in  his  thoughts,  but  went  quietly  to 
the  window  and  took  a  seat  by  her  side,  at  which  she 
blushed  a  little,  but  did  not  move. 

Caroline  was  very  well  grounded  in  her  Italian ;  so,  in- 
stead of  grammars,  these  young  people  fell  to  reading  the 
native  poets,  and  began  with  Tasso — a  course  of  studies  well 
calculated  to  produce  more  results  than  one;  but  Brown 
did  not  understand  Italian,  though  he  was  a  splendid  musi- 
cian, and  repeated  it  like  a  parrot.  Besides,  what  did  Eliza 
know  about  Tasso,  Petrarch,  Dante,  or  any  of  those  wild 
fellows  that  disseminate  love-poison  by  the  line  ? 

When  her  teacher  was  ready  to  go,  Brown  asked  his 
name.  I  have  no  idea  that  Caroline  had  thought  of  it. 
The  young  man  seemed  quite  taken  aback  for  a  minute, 
but  answered,  after  that,  something  that  would  hJfe 
sounded  like  an  English  name  rendered  in  Italian,  had  a 


THE    MOTHER'S    OPPOSITION.  57 

thorough  Italian  scholar  been  present,  which  there  was  not. 

Well,  for  three  months  those  young  people  sat  twice  a 
week  in  the  seat  in  the  lattice-window,  and  read  the  poets 
together.  Need  I  say  more  about  that? 

At  the  end  of  three  months  Olympia  had  an  engage- 
ment in  London,  and  sent  for  Brown  to  join  her  there  with 
his  charge. 


CHAPTER     V. 

THE    MOTHER   AND   DAUGHTER   IN    OPPOSITION. 

OF  course  there  is  no  such  tiling  as  arousing  all  London 
into  a  fit  of  enthusiasm,  because  millions  of  people  are  not 
moved  at  the  same  moment  by  anything  less  than  a  revolu- 
tion. But  the  West  End,  just  then,  wanted  an  excitement, 
and  found  it  in  the  coming  of  Olympia.  Her  style  was  new, 
her  action  a  little  too  free,  perhaps,  for  the  high-bred  dames 
of  the  aristocracy ;  but  they  all  went,  and  were  amused, 
shocked,  fascinated,  and  went  again,  but  only  to  keep  the 
young  people,  they  said,  from  utter  demoralization — the 
creature  really  was  irresistible. 

At  any  rate,  Olympia  was  the  fashion,  and  drew  famously, 
till  a  rival  novelty  proclaimed  itself.  Then  she  was  horror- 
stricken  by  seeing  a  few  empty  seats  in  the  house.  To 
Olympia,  an  empty  seat  was  desolation. 

That  night  Olympia  went  to  her  daughter's  room  the 
moment  she  reached  her  hotel  after  a  late  performance. 
The  cloak  which  she  had  worn  from  the  theatre  still  hung 
about  her  shoulders.  Her  cheeks  blazed  with  rouge,  her 
eyes  were  restless  and'anxious. 


58  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Caroline  started  up  from  her  sweet  sleep,  disturbed  and 
almost  terrified. 

"What  is  it,  mamma?  "  she  said,  holding  hack  the  hair 
from  her  lovely  face  with  both  hands.  "  Is  any  oue  ill — 
Mr.  Brown?" 

Olympia  sat  down  on  her  daughter's  bed,  and  drew  the 
cloak  around  her;  not  that  she  was  cold,  but  to  show  that 
her  resolution  was  taken. 

"Ho  one  is  ill,  Caroline;  as  for  Brown,  I  know  nothing 
about  him.  But  I  come  to  prepare  you ;  for  this  week  we 
shall  bring  you  out.  In  what  opera  have  you  practiced 
most  ?  " 

"  Bring  me  out  ?     Oh,  mamma  !  " 

The  girl  fell  back  on  her  pillow,  dismayed,  and  clasping 
both  hands,  held  them  out  imploringly. 

"  Oh  !  I  thought  you  had  given  it  up." 

"Foolish  child!  I  never  give  anything  up.  Ask 
Brown." 

It  was  true ;  that  woman  never  gave  up  her  own  will  to 
any  one.  The  possibility  of  sacrifice  or  willing  concession 
could  not  enter  her  mind. 

"But  I  cannot,  I  cannot!  Oh,  mother!  think  how  little 
I  have  seen  of  crowds.  To  sing  before  one  would  kill  me  !" 

"  Mother ! "  repeated  Olympia,  "  how  often  must  I  tell 
you  that  I  hate  the  word ! — an  American  vulgarism  !" 

"Forgive  me,  mamma;  it  was  only  because  I  was  so 
frightened  at  the  idea  of  singing  in  public.  But  I  know- 
that  you  did  not  mean  it." 

The  poor  girl  made  a  pitiful  attempt  at  disbelief,  and 
tried  to  win  acquiescence  with  a  timid  smile. 

"  I  not  only  mean  it,  but  will  have  no  more  evasion  or 
protest.     When  we  left  New  York,  you  were  dying  to 
on  the  stage." 

"  Oh,  that  was  before  I  knew — before  I  dreamed — " 


THE    MOTHER'S    OPPOSITION.  59 

"  Before  you  knew — before  you  dreamed  what  ?  " 

"  That  it  made  one  so — so — " 

"Well,  speak  out!" 

"  So  unhappy.  Indeed,  indeed,  I  cannot  say  what  I 
mean ;  only,  I  would  rather  die  than  put  rouge  on  my  face, 
and — oh,  forgive  me !  I  did  not  mean  to  make  you  look  so 
angry  ! " 

But  Olympia  was  angry.  The  prima  donna  of  a  com- 
pany does  not  usually  bear  much  opposition,  even  in  trifles, 
and  here  Olympia  had  great  interests  at  stake. 

Through  the  young  girl  before  her  she  intended  to  run  a 
second  career,  and  thus  crowd  the  enjoyment  of  two  lives 
into  one. 

"  This  all  comes  of  Brown,"  she  said.  "  He  would  have 
you  kept  quiet,  and  out  of  the  world,  pretending  that  society 
would  distract  attention  from  your  practice ;  but  it  was  all 
an  artful  plan  to  keep  you  to  himself.  I  have  not  been  so 
busy  as  not  to  understand  that,  let  me  tell  him." 

Caroline  started  up  in  bed,  almost  as  much  excited  as  the 
actress. 

There  was  plenty  of  good  honest  character  in  the  girl ; 
and,  if  she  appeared  timid,  it  was  from  delicacy,  not  weak- 
ness. 

"  Yon  wrong  Mr.  Brown.  There  is  not  a  selfish  feeling 
in  his  heart.  What  he  does,  is  always  done  for  my  good." 

"  Yes  ;  I  suppose  it  is  for  your  good  when  he  drinks  too 
much  1 " 

There  was  a  sneer  on  Olympia' s  lip,  an  evil  spirit  in  her 
eye,  which  destroyed  all  its  beauty ;  but  even  this  did  not 
make  the  girl  shrink  ;  she  only  put  out  both  her  hands,  and 
turned  her  head  away. 

"  Oh  !  how  can  you  ?  "  she  cried.  '  "  I  never  saw  him  in 
my  life  when  he  was  not  in  all  respects  a  gentleman." 

"But  I  have!   I  have!" 


60  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

«  Ah,  madam,  it  is  cruel  to  say  this.  Mr.  Brown  was  my 
friend,  my  only  friend,  long  before— before  you  came  and 
took  me  away  from  my  poor  little  home.  If  you  could 
make  me  think  ill  of  him,  would  it  be  kind  ?" 

«  But  he  has  been  treacherous ;  he  has  taught  you  hatred 
of  the  profession  which  you  were  so  crazy  for  at  one  time." 
"  No,  no ;  it  was  not  Mr.  Brown.     I  saw  for  myself." 
"  Yes,  the   dark   side ;    never  in   its   brightness   or   its 
glory.     But  you  shall,  you  shall." 

Caroline  lay  back  upon  her  pillow  and  covered  her  face 
with  one  hand.  The  sight  of  that  beautiful  woman,  so  hard 
in  her  resolve,  so  completely  ignoring  all  feelings  but  her 
own,  was  hateful  to  her. 

"  Please  let  me  rest  to-night,"  she  pleaded. 
"  To-night,  yes.  It  is  enough  that  you  understand  me 
now ;  but.  after  this,  I  shall  expect  no  opposition.  If  you 
are  so  stupidly  ignorant  of  the  power  which  lies  in  your 
own  beauty  and  genius,  I  am  not.  So  try  and  come  to  your 
senses  before  morning.  Good-night." 

The  woman  went  out,  with  her  head  aloft,  and  her  cloak 
trailing  behind  her,  for,  in  her  excitement,  she  had  flung  it 
away  from  one  shoulder,  that  she  might  gesticulate  with  the 
arm  that  was  free. 

Caroline  turned  upon  her  pillow  and  cried  bitterly  till 
morning. 

Olympia  was  right.  The  girl  had  been  scrupulously  kept 
from  all  society  that  her  freshness  might  be  preserved,  and 
her  education  completed. 

She  had  been  to  the  theatres,  here  and  there,  when  some 
new  piece  was  presented,  but  it  was  rather  as  a  study  than 
an  amusement;  and  after  a  knowledge  of  the  public  idol  in 
private  life  had  slowly  swept  away  all  the  romance  of  their 
first  meeting,  the  innate  coarseness  of  this  beautiful,  selfish 
woman  was  not  long  in  revealing  itself  to  the  pure-minded 


THE    MOTHER'S    OPPOSITION.          61 

girl,  who  soon  began  to  grieve  that  she  could  not  love  and 
still  admire  the  mother  she  had  at  first  almost  worshipped. 
Olympia,  who  had  found  it  easy  enough  to  dicate  to  man- 
agers, and  oppress  subordinates,  had  far  different  material  to 
act  upon  when  she  broke  in  upon  the  midnight  sleep  of  the 
girl  Daniel  Yates  had  grounded  in  the  nobility  of  true 
womanhood. 

The  next  day,  being  Sunday,  was  Olympia's  great  day 
of  rest  and  amusement.  She  slept  till  long  after  mid-day, 
ate  an  epicurean  breakfast  in  a  little  dressing-room  with 
rose-tinted  draperies,  ran  lazily  over  the  pages  of  some 
French  novel,  in  the  silken  depths  of  a  pretty  Turkish 
divan,  heaped  up  with  cushions,  till  long  after  dark ;  then 
threw  herself  into  the  mysteries  of  a  superb  toilet,  and  came 
into  her  exquisite  little  drawing-room  like  a  princess — say 
Marguerite  of  Navarre — ready  to  entertain  the  guests,  in- 
variably invited  on  that  evening,  in  a  fashion  that  made  her 
quite  as  popular  in  this  particular  social  strata  as  she  was 
behind  the  footlights. 

From  these  little  suppers  Caroline  had  been  carefully 
excluded  up  to  this  time ;  but  the  morning  after  she  had 
left  the  young  girl  in  tears  upon  her  pillow,  Olympia  broke 
into  her  day  of  luxurious  repose  by  sending  for  her  agent, 
with  whom  she  had  a  rather  stormy  interview  in  the  dress- 
ing-room, from  which  Brown  came  out  pale  as  death,  but 
with  an  uprightness  of  the  person,  and  an  expression  in  the 
eyes  that  no  one  had  ever  seen  there  before. 

About  an  hour  after  he  had  departed,  Olympia's  French 
maid  was  seen  hurrying  up  stairs  to  the  chamber  which 
Caroline  occupied,  and  where  she  stood  that  moment,  just 
as  she  had  sprung  from  her  chair,  with  a  wild  and  startled 
look ;  for  every  knock  she  heard  seemed  to  come  from  her 
mother,  whose  appearance  she  dreaded  terribly  that  morn- 
ing. But,  instead  of- "Olympia,  the  French  maid  came  in, 


62  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

with  a  creamy-white  dress  of  India  gauze  thrown  over  her 
arm,  its  whiteness  broken  up  by  the  blue  ripple  of  a  broad 
sash,  with  a  purple  tinge  in  it;  and  in  her  hands  the 
woman  carried  some  half-open  moss-roses,  with  a  delicate 
perfume  absolutely  breaking  from  their  hearts,  as  if  they 
were  the  outgrowth  of  a  generous  soil — which  they  were 
not,  however  difficult  it  might  be  to  decide  from  a  first  or 
second  look ;  these  French  are  so  like  nature  in  everything 
but  themselves. 

The  French  maid  laid  these  things  daintily  on  Caroline's 
bed,  where  the  roses  glowed  out,  as  if  cast  upon  the  crust 
of  a  snow-bank.  Then,  looking  upon  the  girl's  magnificent 
hair,  which  was  simply  turned  back  from  her  forehead  and 
done  in  braids  behind,  she  said,  with  pretty,  broken  speech : 

"I  will  do  it  in  crimp  and  puffs,  if  mademoiselle  pleases. 
With  her  face,  it  will  be  charming." 

Caroline  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  cast  a  half-frightened, 
half-pleased  glance  at  her  maid,  Eliza,  who  stood  nearby,' 
looking  grimly  at  preparations  she  could  not  understand. 
This  was  not  half  so  dreadful  as  the  presence  she  had  ex- 
pected, and  the  dress  was  so  lovely  that  she  could  not  keep 
her  eyes  from  it. 

"What  is  it  all  about?"  questioned  staunch  America, 
with  a  look  at  France  which  was  not  altogether  friendly. 

"It  is,"  answered  the  French  maid,  spreading  out  her 
little  hands,  "It  is  that  madame  will  have  mademoiselle 
dcwu  to  her  little  supper.  The  evening  will  be  very  charm- 
ing because  of  mademoiselle." 

Caroline  glanced  at  the  blush-roses,  and  her  eyes  began 
to  sparkle.  Then  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Eliza's  face,  and 
turned  her  glance  resolutely  away,  looking  penitent.  Eliza 
knew  something  of  madame's  little  suppers,  but  Caroline 
did  not.  If  bursts  of  laughter  and  a  soft  tangle  of  voices 
sometimes  came  up  to  her  room  in  the  night,  she  had  no 


THE    MOTHER'S    OPPOSITION.          63 

means  of  knowing  that  the  noise  was  not  from  the  servants' 
hall,  and  Eliza  would  have  died  rather  than  enlighten  her. 
Besides,  she  had  nothing  Absolutely  wrong  to  tell,  for  some 
of  the  first  young  noblemen  in  England  came  to  Olympia's 
little  entertainments;  and  when  Eliza  heard  their  names 
announced  she  had  not  a  word  to  sa}^  having  lived  long 
enough  to  attain  a  reverence  for  titles. 

In  fact,  it  is  doubtful  if  she  did  not  value  her  charge  a 
little  more  highly  from  the  fact  that  she  lived  in  a  house 
where  noblemen  came  and  went  with  such  evident  socia- 
bility. 

At  first  Eliza  had  darted  fiery  glances'at  the  robe  of  India 
gauze,  thinking  it  a  theatrical  costume;  but  when  she 
learned  that  it  was  only  a  dress  which  would  introduce  her 
darling  into  the  best  society,  from  which  a  selfish  mother 
had  rigidly  excluded  her,  she  allowed  her  features  to  relax, 
and  absolutely  smiled  on  the  little  French  woman. 

Then  the  smile,  which  had  been  struggling  all  the  time 
about  Caroline's  mouth,  broke  over  her  whole  face.  She 
could  neither  keep  her  hands  from  the  dress  or  the  moss- 
roses,  but  touched  them  daintily,  half  doubtful,  indeed,  if 
they  were  intended  for  her. 

"If  mademoiselle  will  please,"  said  the  little  French 
woman,  drawing  a  low  chair  before  the  dressing-table,  and 
taking  an  ivory  brush,  carved  at  the  back  like  a  Chinese 
puzzle,  in  her  hand. 

Caroline  sat  down,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself.  Eliza 
stood  a  little  on  One  side,  resolved  to  be  upon  her  guard. 

"V^hile  she  was  looking,  down  came  that  abundant  hair  in 
a  torrent,  tress  apon  tress,  wave  after  wave,  with  tinges  of 
gold  rippling  through  and  through  the  brown.  The  little 
French  woman  held  up  both  hands,  brush  and  all,  in 
astonishment,  and  burst  out  in  a  noisy  cataract  of  French, 
which  delighted  Eliza  all  the  more  because  she  could  not 
understand  a  word  of  it. 


64  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

But  Caroline  did  understand,  and  this  outburst  of  genu- 
ine admiration  pleased  her  so  much  that,  in  a  moment,  her 
face  was  glowing  like  a  whole  thicket  of  roses,  and  she 
hadn't  the  courage  to  lift  her  eyes,  from  fear  that  Eliza 
would  see  how  foolish  she  was  to  care  about  what  the  little 
French  woman  said. 

Eliza  saw  all  this,  but  it  only  made  that  grim  smile 
broader  and  deeper  on  her  own  face;  and  when  the  golden- 
brown  hair  was  frizzed  and  rolled,  and  dropped  in  two  rich 
curls  on  that  white  shoulder,  she  turned  her  face  upon  the 
French  woman  and  said,  "Very  nice!"  in  a  way  that 
made  the  little  woman  put  her  head  on  one  side,  and  nod  it 
half  a  dozen  times,  while  she  answered  : 

"  Yes,  I  tink  so." 

India  gauze  was  dropped  like  a  cloud  over  Caroline's 
head ;  the  sash  of  purplish  blue  was  girded  around  her 
waist,  and  bunched  up  in  superb  bows  behind ;  then  the 
cloudy  stuff  was  gathered  up  in  drapery  from  a  silken 
under-skirt,  tinted  like  the  sash,  and  fastened  back  with 
clusters  of  the  moss-roses. 

This  completed  the*toilet.  No  jewels  were  there,  not 
even  a  string  of  pearls,  though  Olympia  had  ropes  of  them ; 
and  Caroline  rather  sighed  for  their  completeness  when  she 
took  a  full-length  view  of  herself  in  the  mirror,  as  foolish 
girls  will,  who  never  learn  the  value  of  simplicity  and  fresh- 
ness until  both  are  lost. 

Then  the  little  French  woman  went  away  to  Olympia, 
giving  Caroline  plenty  of  time  for  reflection.  The  first 
thing  the  girl  did  was  to  look  shyly  at  Eliza,  who  pursed  up 
her  lips,  and  did  her  best  to  keep  from  smiling.  Then  she 
took  courage,  and  said  : 

"Eliza." 
I  hear,"  answered  the  grim  hand-maiden. 

"Eliza,  do  you  think  he  would  know  me  in  this  dress? 


THE    MOTHER'S    OPPOSITION.  65 

Or,  if  so,  would  he  like  it,  as  he  did  that  dear  Italian 
costume?  " 

"  I  dou't  know,"  answered  Eliza.  "Them  Italians  have 
queer  notions  about  dress.  ISTow,  for  my  part,  them  short 
skirts  and  low-necked  waists  did  well  enough  for  common- 
sized  girls ;  but  you're  too  tall,  and  carry  your  head  too 
high,  for  anything  but  a  skirt  that  sweeps  out  and  puffs  up 
like  that." 

"  Still,  I  shall  always  like  the  dear  old  costume,  Eliza. 
Ob,  what  a  happy,  happy  life  madame  broke  up  when  she 
sent  for  us  !  "  _ 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  You  seemed  to  enjoy  it ;  and  as  for 
that  young  fellow,  what  with  his  boating  on  the  river,  his 
shooting  birds — which  I  hate — on  the  hills,  and  his  lessons 
— well,  really,  he  might  about  as  well  h.ave  lived  with  us." 

"Oh!  Eliza,  shall  we  ever  be  so-, happy  again?"  cried 
the  girl,  kindling  up 'with;  bright  ^riainoraess.  - 

"Not  just  in  the  same  way  J.real  folk^  flerqr  pre.  But  I 
suppose  people  have  a  pretty  eqtoal  shaVe  of  the  good  and 
bad  things  of  Kfe,  as  they  go  aloag.  -Now  I  haven't  an 
idea  but  that  the  young  fellow  thought  all  was  up  with  him 
when  hfNgot^th^Jetteryoii  left  at  the  house." 

"  I  should  not  wonder,"  said  Caroline,  and  her  bosom 
began  to  heave  with  an  after-swell  of  the  indignation  which 
had  stormed  it,  when  she  left  Italy  at  an  hour's  notice. 
"It  was  a  cruel  thing.  I  never  will  forgive  you  or  Mr. 
Brown.  A  few  hours  would  have  made  no  difference,  and 
he  was  coming  the  next  day." 

"  What  then  ?  If  he  was  a  teacher,  Mr.  Brown  left  his 
money,  with  two  months'  overpay." 

"  His  money!"  repeated  Caroline,  with  infinite  scorn. 

"  If  not  money,  what  did  he  come  for "  questioned  the 
hand-maiden,  sharply. 

"Eliza,  you  shall  nerer  think  that — it  degrades  him  and 


66  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

me.  He  never  touched — he  never  thought  of  money.  If 
Mr.  Brown  left  it,  as  you  say,  I  am  sure  he  felt  insulted." 

"  Then  what  did  he  come  for  ?  "  inquired  Eliza,  with  dry, 
emphasis. 

"  Because — because  he  loved  me,  and  could  not  live  with- 
out seeing  me,  because  I — I — " 

"  Loved  him,"  said  the  maid. 

But  Caroline  had  broken  down  wholly  with  this  first 
passionate  confession.  The  poor  girl  sank  to  a  couch,  flushed 
all  over  with  such  shame  as  only  a  woman  of  fine  sensibili- 
ties can  feel  for  that  of  which  she  has  no  reason  to  be 
ashamed  at  all. 

"Oh!  Eliza,  how  can  you  be  so  cruel?"  she  exclaimed, 
dropping  her  hands,  and  revealing  a  face  of  crimson,  wet 
with  tears.  "  I  never  meant  to  keep  it  from  you." 

"  Of  course,  you  never  meant  it,  and  you  didn't  do  it, 
which  is  more.  You  supposed  I  didn't  know.  Men  may 
be  blind  as  bats — they  usually  are  ;  and  our  Brown  is  worse 
than  the  commonality.  But  trust  an  old  maid  for  spying 
out  a  love  secret.  It's  like  exploring  a  strange  laud  for  her, 
you  know.  Lord  !  Miss  Carry,  you  can't  keep  a  secret  from 
Eliza  Casey;  but  then,  why  should  you  ?  Isn't  she  bound 
to  be  your  staunch  friend  forever  and  ever  ?  " 

These  words  opened  a  new  source  of  anxiety  to  the  really 
unhappy  girl,  who  forgot  her  love-shame,  and  plunged  at 
once  into  a  new  subject. 

"  Oh !  Eliza,  if  you  could  help  me.  Madame  is  deter- 
mined. That  is,  she  wishes  me  to  go  on  the  stage." 

"  Well,  you  have  been  told  that  from  the  first." 

"  I  know — I  know ;  but  it  seemed  so  far  off  then,  like 
death,  or  any  other  evil  that  you  know  will  come,  but  can- 
not tell  when.  But  now  she  says  it  must  be  at  once.  Oh ! 
Eliza,  I  never  can  do  it.  The  very  fear  of  it  makes  me 
shudder." 


THE    MOTHER'S    OPPOSITION.  67 

"  But  why  ?  I  remember,  when  we  first  came  out  here, 
you  had  no  other  wish  but  to  be  like  her — your  mother,  I 
mean.  Like  her!  I  would  rather  see  you  dead  !" 

Eliza  muttered  the  last  words  under  her  breath,  and 
Caroline  only  heard  the  question. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Everything  seemed  so  bright  then — she 
brightest  of  all ;  but  I  was  getting  to  shrink  from  it  before 
we  went  up  to  that  dear  little  villa,  and  since  then  it  has 
seemed  like  death.  Oh  !  tell  her  this,  Eliza,  and  beg  of  her 
to  let  me  be  as  I  am." 

"  But  shall  I  tell  her  all,  and  say  that  is  the  reason  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no !  You  may  think  it.  Mr.  Brown  may 
think  it.  That  is  like  myself  having  a  secret ;  but  do  not 
tell  her  for  the  whole  world." 

"Tell  her!  Well,  well,  I  aint  likely  to;  but  if  she  is  set 
upon  it,  what  can  I  say  ?  Madame  is  not  a  woman  to  give 
up  her  plans,  and  you  have  got  such  a  voice!  Sometimes 
I  think  it  would  be  splendid  to  see  you  taking  the  wind  out 
of  her  sails." 

"  But  it  would  kill  me  ! " 

"  Poor  thing  !  Well,  never  mind — I  will  stand  by  you, 
right  or  wrong;  but  this  will  be  a  tough  battle.  Tell  me, 
though,  did  that  young  fellow  have  anything  to  do  with 
setting  you  against  the  profession  ?" 

"  There  it  is,  Eliza.  He  never  knew  that  I  thought  of 
it,  and  used  to  speak  of  female  performers  with  such  care- 
less contempt,  as  if  they  were  ten  thousand  degrees  beneath 
him." 

"And  he  only  a  teacher!"  said  Eliza,  lifting  her  head  in 
the  air. 

"And  he  only  a  teacher;  but  so  proud,  so  sensitive,  so 
regal  in  all  he  said  or  did.  Oh !  Eliza,  if  he  knew  that 
Olympia,  grand,  beautiful,  and  worshipped  as  she  is,  were 
iny  mother,  I  fear  he  would  never  care  for  me  again." 


68  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  Why,  how  on  earth  could  you  help  that  ?  " 

"  I  could  not,  and  it  would  be  wicked  to  desire  it.  But, 
Eliza,  I  ought  to  have  had  the  courage  to  tell  him,  and  I 
put  it  off.  Every  day  I  said  to  myself,  the  very  next  time 
he  comes,  and  at  last  you  know  how  it  was.  I  had  no 
chance,  and  now  I  may  never  see  him  again.  He  will 
always  think  me  Mr.  Brown's  daughter,  and  I  shall  feel  like 
an  impostor.  I  cannot  help  this;  but  to  go  on  the  stage, 
when  he  has  said  so  much  against  it,  that  I  will  not  do, 
unless  forced  there  by  my  mother's  authority." 

"Well,  as  I  said  before,  I  will  stand  by  you,  right  or 
wrong ;  and  so  will  Mr.  Brown,  I  know.  I  only  wish  he 
was  your  father." 

"He  could  not  be  kinder  if  he  was,"  said  Caroline. 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  afttd  Olympia's  French  maid 
looked  through. 

"Madame  is  in  the  drawing-room,  and  waits  for  made- 
moiselle." 

"  I  will  come  !  I  will  come  ! "  exclaimed  Caroline,  breath- 
lessly, and  she  hurried  down  stairs. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

SOME    OLD    ACQUAINTANCES    GKT    INTO   A   CONJUGAL 
DIFFICULTY. 

LORD  HOPE  had  a  house  in  Belgravia,  that  could  always 
be  made  ready  for  the  family  at  a  day's  notice.  So  Rachael, 
who  could  refuse  nothing  to  her  brother,  sent  up  her  stew- 
ard to  make  preparations  one  day,  and  followed  him  the 
next  with  Lady  Clara  and  Hepworth  Gloss;  Margaret 
Casey  and  other  servants  in  attendance,  of  course. 


A    CONJUGAL     DIFFICULTY.  69 

These  persons  reached  London  on  the  very  Saturday 
when  Olympia  was  stricken  with  dismay  by  finding  an 
empty  seat  or  two  in  her  usually  well  packed  houses. 
When  this  discovery  first  broke  upon  the  prima  donna, 
Hepworth  Gloss  was  sitting  quietly  in  the  pit,  where  he 
found  himself,  as  if  by  accident.  They  had  reached  town 
only  in  time  for  a  late  dinner,  when  the  ladies,  being 
greatly  fatigued,  proclaimed  their  intention  of  retiring 
early,  which  was,  in  fact,  casting  him  adrift  for  the  even- 
ing. Being  thus  let  loose  upon  the  world,  he  very  natu- 
rally brought  up  at  the  opera,  and  was  seated  so  near  the 
stage  that  his  eyes  more  than  once  caught  those  of  Olym- 
pia, who  gave  him  one  of  those  quick  glances  of  recogni- 
tion, which  seemed  aimed  at  the  whole  audience,  but  hit 
only  one  person. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  isn't  she  a  stunner!"  said 
a  voice,  as  the  first  act  closed.  Hepworth  might  not  have 
recognized  these  words  as  addressed  to  himself,  but  for  the 
weight  of  a  large  hand  which  was  laid  on  his  arm.  As  it 
was,  he  turned  promptly,  and  encountered  a  stout,  heavy 
man,  handsomely  dressed,  but  for  a  massive  gold  chain 
which  passed  across  his  bosom  into  his  vest  pocket,  and 
drooped  in  glittering  lengths  far  down  the  rotundity  of  his 
capacious  person,  and  a  large  diamond  that  blazed  on  his 
plaited  shirt  bosom.  From  the  chain  and  the  diamond, 
Hepworth's  first  thought  was,  that  the  person  must  be 
some  Californian  or  Australian  acquaintance,  belonging  to 
his  old  mining  days,  but  the  man  soon  set  that  idea  aside. 

"  You  don't  happen  to  remember  me,  Mr.  Hepworth,  but 
I  knew  you  at  the  first  sight.  Ask  my  lady  here.  Didn't 
I  say,  Mrs.  Stacy,  that  gentleman  with  the  coal-black 
mustacher,  and  them  splendid  eyes,  is  Mr.  Hepworth,  if 
ever  I  set  my  two  eyes  on  Mr.  Hepworth,  which  I  did  many 
a  time,  when  he  used  to  come  to  Forty-third  street?" 


70  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Hepworth  started.  Forty-third  street!  Was  he  to  be 
forever  haunted  by  the  place  and  people  connected  with 
that  awful  tragedy  ?  Why  was  this  ?  The  guilt  was  not 
his,  yet  he  could  not  feel  himself  near  any  person,  however 
remotely  connected  with  it,  without  thrills  of  dread. 

The  man  had  been  talking  on,  but  Hepworth  heard  no- 
thing at  first,  he  had  been  too  painfully  startled;  when  he 
did  listen,  these  words  fell  on  his  ear : 

"  That  was  an  awful  affair,  Mr.  Hepworth ;  most  people 
was  astonished,  but  I  never  was ;  always  had  my  suspicions 
of  that  old  woman ;  believe  she  robbed  the  house  of  lots 
and  lots  of  things,  after  the  lady  was  dead  ;  in  fact,  am 
sure  of  it.  Mrs.  Stacy  here  is  of  my  opinion.  There  was 
a  girl  in  the  house — perhaps  you  remember  her,  sir — Mag- 
gie we  used  to  call  her ;  she  and  the.  old  woman  Yates  was 
thick  as  thieves,  and  both  laid  their  heads  together.  It 
wasn't  for  nothing,  let  me  tell  you ;  their  nests  were  feath- 
ered, you  may  believe.  There  never  was  a  sharper  girl 
than  Maggie  Casey." 

"  She  was  just  a  forerd,  iinperdent  cretur  as  set  her  cap 
at  you  like  a  fiery  draggon,"  broke  out  the  woman,  who 
occupied  a  seat  by  the  stout  man,  and  was  evidently  his 
wife ;  "  a  cretur  as  I  wouldn't  wipe  my  shoes  on,  after  a 
long  walk  —  no,  not  if  she'd  give  me  fifty  pair  for  doing 
of  it." 

"  I  am  not  saying  anything  to  the  contrary,  my  dear,  am 
I?  That 'girl  was  after  me  sharp  enough,  but  I  never 
encouraged  her.  Mr.  Hepworth  can  satisfy  you  on  that 
point,  my  own  Harriet,  for  I  remember,  as  if  it  was  yester- 
day, he  and  I  talking  about  it  the  very  day  afore  that  mur- 
der, and  we  both  agreed  that  her  conduct  was  scandalous." 

Hepworth  shuddered.  How  well  he  remembered  that 
artful  conversation.  How  hideous  it  appeared  to  him  now. 

"But  I  don't  think  Mr.  Hepworth   remembers   us  for 


A    CONJUGAL     DIFFICULTY.  71 

positive,  even  now,'*'  said  the  woman;  "just  look  in  my 
face,  young  gent,  and  say  if  you  do." 

"  Harriet,  my  dear,  isn't  that  a  little,  just  a  little,  pro- 
miscous?"  said  the  husband,  as  a  broad,  red  face,  with  a 
pointed  nose,  turning  up  in  the  centre,  and  two  small  leaden 
blue  eyes  looking  across  it,  was  bent  forward,  and  challenged 
Hepworth's  inspection.  "  Remember,  things  have  changed 
since  we  knew  tflis  gentleman." 

"  In  course  they  have  changed,  and  I  haven't  no  doubt 
that  is  just  what  is  a  puzzling  him  now;  but  when  I  ask 
Mr.  Hepworth  if  he  remembers  the  first  punken-pie  he 
ever  eat  in  his  born  days,  and  who  made  it,  he'll  be  sure  to 
remember  Harriet,  and  I  ain't  ashamed  to  say  that  I  am 
her,  if  I  do  wear  an  Injur  shawl,  and  if  that  diment  in 
your  bozzom  is  a  flashing  right  in  his  eyes.  Self-made 
men,  and  women  too,  mayn't  be  of  much  account  in  Eng- 
land, but  in  New  York,  the  aristocracy  are  always  a  trying 
to  make  out  that  they  were  born  next  door  to  the  al ins- 
house,  and  started  life  with  just  twenty-five  cents  in  their 
pockets,  so  you  and  I  needn't  be  ashamed." 

Hepworth  was  not  cosmopolitan,  and  managed  to  get  the 
truth  out  of  this  confusion  of  cockney,  Irish,  and  Yankee 
dialect.  In  fact,  at  the  first  moment,  he  had  recognized 
Matthew  Stacy  and  Harriet  Long  in  the  persons  who 
claimed  his  acquaintance,  and  they  stung  his  memory  like 
a  nest  of  serpents. 

"  You'll  be  glad  to  know,"  said  Stacy,  "  that  Harriet  has 
been,  in  all  respects,  up  to  the  'casion  whenever  I've  made 
a  rise  in  the  world.  There's  smartness  in  that  woman,  I 
can  tell  you.  When  I  was  elected  alderman  of  our  ward, 
she  just  went  into  the  saloon  and  dealt  out  licker  to  my 
constituents  with  her  own  hand.  There  is  no  telling  the 
number  of  votes  she  got  for  me  by  that  perseeding.  You'd 
be  astonished." 


72  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Here  tbe  curtain  went  up  with  a  rush,  and  Stacy  could 
only  make  himself  heard  by  sharp  whispers,  which  reached 
Hepworth  in  fragments,  when  the  music  sank  lowest. 

"Got  into  a  first-rate  thing.  Mayor  with  us  —  street 
contracts — cut  through,  widened — got  hold  of  a  dead  charter 
— revived  it — stock  went  up  like  winking — kept  the  Irish 
vote  of  the  ward  in  my  fist — no  counting  the  presents  that 
woman  got.  I  never  took  one,  of  course  ;  such  a  woman  ! " 

Here  Olympia's  voice  swept  through  the  house,  with  an 
outpouring  of  melody  that  brought  the  audience  to  its  feet, 
but  when  the  tumult  subsided,  Hepworth  found  that  the 
man  had  been  talking  on  and  on,  with  an  under-tow  of 
political  gossip,  that  reached  him  in  words  at  last. 

"They  wanted  the  Legislature,  which  wasn't  to  be  had 
without  money,  you  know ;  two  or  three  men  had  been  seen 
— nothing  less  than  a  hundred  thousand  would  do  it.  I 
was  president  of  the  board,  went  up  myself,  saw  the  mem- 
bers, who  sent  me  to  their  confidential  men — jackals  we  call 
'em,  ha  !  ha ! — got  it  done  for  sixty  thousand — said  nothing, 
but  divided  the  rest — jackals  got  twenty,  the  other  twenty — 
you  understand.  She  got  an  Inger  shawl  out  of  that  opera- 
tion, the  very  one  she  has  on." 

"No,  it  isn't  nothing  of  the  sort.  This  one  was  the 
other,"  whispered  Mrs.  Stacy,  holding  up  a  corner  of  the 
magnificent  shawl  she  wore.' 

Hepworth  turned  and  gazed  upon  the  shawl  until  his  face 
grew  white  as  death,  in  the  gaslight.  The  very  sight  of 
that  rich  garment  made  him  faint. 

The  mistake  he  had  made  had  a  silencing  effect  upon 
Stacy  too.  He  had  no  wish  that  the  history  of  that  garment 
should  be  produced,  and  when  his  wife  was  about  to  speak, 
silenced  her  at  once. 

"  My  dear  Harriet,"  he  said,  "  how  often  have  I  told  you 
that  talking  at  a  theater  or  the  operer  is  awfully  vulgar.  I 


A    CONJUGAL     DIFFICULTY.  73 

wonder  you  can  persist  in  it,  and  Mr.  Hepworth  by.  Just 
listen  to  that  music!  Haven'b  you  no  taste?  If  you 
haven't,  just  take  a  look  around  the  boxes.  That  young  fel- 
ler there  is  the  Prince  of  Wales." 

Mrs.  Stacy  took  a  mother-of-pearl  opera  glass  from  her 
lap,  and  obediently  turned  it  upon  the  royal  box. 

Before  the  performance  was  over,  and  while  Hepworth 
was  drawn  back,  in  spite  of  himself,  to  the  most  painful 
scenes  of  his  life,  an  usher  came  down  the  nearest  passage, 
and  put  a  little  twisted  note  into  his  hand.  It  was  from 
Olyrnpia,  inviting  him  to  supper  the  next  evening. 

Hepworth  crushed  the  pretty  missive  in  his  hand,  while 
he  turned  to  send  a  verbal  refusal,  but  the  usher  had  with- 
drawn, and  he  had  no  other  way  of  sending  a  reply  that 
night. 

The  opera  was  at  its  close  now,  and  Hepworth  left  the 
house,  irritated  and  restless.  Could  he  find  no  place  in 
which  this  miserable  past  would  not  haunt  him  ?  He  had 
hardly  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  when  his  arm  was 
seized,  and  Stacy  almost  wheeled  him  around  on  the  pave- 
ment. 

"My  dear  sir,  this  way.  Mrs.  Stacy  is  already  in  the 
carriage.  Of  course  we  would  not  ride  and  let  you  go  afoot. 
Have  been  a  poor  man  myself  once — needn't  deny  that  to 
you.  Know  what  it  is  to  keep  up  a  show  without  capital. 
But  no  old  friend  of  mine  shall  go  afoot  while  I  have  the 
wherewith  to  pay  for  a  carriage,  and  an  empty  seat  in  it. 
Shall  set  in  the  back  seat  with  Mrs.  Stacy,  upon  my  soul 
you  shall,  and  that's  an  honor  I  don't  offer  to  every  man. 
Now  just  tell  me  where  you  are  putting  qp." 

Hepworth  laughed,  jn  spite  of  his  annoyance.  The  pat- 
ronizing fussiness  of  the  ex-alderman  struck  a  keen  sense  of 
the  ridiculous,  which  was  strong  in  his  character. 

"If  you  insist,"  he  said.     "But  you  are  too  generous." 


74  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  When  Alderman  Stacy  does  a 
thing,  he  does  it  handsomely.  This  way,  this  way !" 

Hepworth  seated  himself  in  the  carriage  where  Mrs.  Stacy 
squeezed  herself  in  one  corner,  and  gathered  up  her  skirts 
to  make  room  for  him,  and  Stacy  had  his  foot  on  the  step, 
when  a  new  poster,  just  placed  at  the  door  of  the  opera 
house,  struck  his  attention,  and  ho  stepped  back  to  examine 
it. 

"'First  appearance  of  a  young  American,  a  protege  of 
Olympia.'  Just  read  that  poster,  Mr.  Hepworth,  and  tell 
me  what  you  think  of  it,"  he  said,  lifting  himself  into  the 
carriage.  "Mrs.  Stacy,  my  dear,  just  look  that  way,  and 
tell  me  if  you  can  guess  who  it  is  that  will  mako  a  first  ap- 
pearance Monday  night?  You  know  that  young  lady,  and 
so  does  Mr.  Hepworth.  Now,  make  a  guess." 

"How  can  you?"  said  Mrs.  Stacy.  "  You  know,  Mat- 
thew, dear,  I  never  was  good  at  conundrums  and  such  like." 

Matthew  puffed  himself  out  with  a  deep,  long  breath,  and 
clasping  two  huge  hands  encased  in  flame-colored  gloves 
on  his  knee,  leaned  toward  Hepworth. 

"  You  try,  now." 

Hepworth  shook  his  head,  and  Stacy  burst  out  with  his 
mystery. 

"It's  the  identical  child  that  was  brought  up  at  the 
inquest  in  Forty-third  street— Daniel  Yat.es'  little  daughter." 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Stacy.     "  That  little  creature  ?  " 

"  It  ain't  nobody  else — you  may  bet  high  on  that,  Mrs. 
Stacy." 

Hepworth  kept  perfectly  still,  but  his  heart  fairly  stopped 
beating. 

"  But  how  did  you  find  out,  Matthew,  dear  ?  " 
"Oh!  we  aldermen  find  out  everything.     Th=)  girl  was 
brought  up  in  the  country,  near  Sing-Sing,  in  a  cedar-post 
cottage  that  the  executor  wanted  to  raise  some  money  on. 


A    CONJUGAL     DIFFICULTY.  75 

I  went  up  to  see  it,  and  had  a  good  look  at  the  girl.  Yes, 
my  dear,  she  was,  to  say,  very  handsome,  but  proud.  Dan- 
iel Yates  had  brought  her  up  like  a  queen,  and  I  give  you 
my  word  she  looked  it ;  but  there  was  no  mistake  about  it. 
The  executor  had  just  gobbled  up  everything  Yates  left,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  look  look  after  him,  ao  that  the  girl  was 
just  nowhere  financial!}7.  I  found  out  that  the  cottage  could 
not  be  sold  or  mortgaged,  nor  let  either,  according  to  law, 
though  the  executor  tried  it  on  hard,  and  came  again  and 
again  about  it,  especially  after  she  left  it.  So  I  found  out 
everything  about  the  girl.  That  primer  donner  took  a  fancy 
to  her,  and  adopted  her  right  out  of  hand  because  of  her 
voice,  and  to-morrow  night  you  can  both  of  you  see  her,  for 
I  mean  to  have  a  box  up  among  the  British  arrestocracy 
that  night,  and  I  invite  you  both  free  gratis  for  nothing." 

"Are  you  sure  of  this?"  questioned  Hepworth,  who  had 
not  spoken  till  now. 

"  Just  as  sure  as  I  am  that  Alderman  Stacy  sits  before 
you.  But  if  you  don't  believe  it,  ask  the  girl  yourself.  I 
mean  to  call  on  her,  and  Mrs.  Stacy  will  do  likewise.  You 
can  go  along.  That  is,  we  will  call,  if  she  comes  out  first 
chop  on  Monday  night." 

"  Mr.  Stacy,"  said  the  superb  matron  in  the  back  seat, 
drawing  herself  up  with  wonderful. dignity,  "I  don't  mean 
to  put  on  airs  nor  nothing  because  I'm  your  lady  and  richer 
than  some  folks,  or  Mr.  Hepworth  wouldn't  be  an  honored 
guest  in  this  here  carriage  ;  but  I  must  set  my  foot  square 
aginst  actresses  and  primmer  donners — in  short,  theatre- 
clers  in  general." 

"Just  you  hear  that,"  said  Stacy,  looking  at  Hepworth. 
"  Isn't  she  coming  it  down  strong,  and  lifting  of  her  head 
high?" 

"It  isn't  that,  Mr.  Stacy,  but  because  I  am  a  wife  and  a 
— a  woman — that  1  feel  called  upon  to  stand  between  them 


76  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

creturs  and  the  sect.  Pay  them  your  money,  Mr.  Stacy — 
pay  them  any  amount  of  money  from  the  front — but  noth- 
ing beyond  that,  Mr.  Stacy  !  " 

"  Oh,  humbug,"  said  Mr.  Stacy ;  "  that  is  putting  it  too 
strong,  Harriet — as  if  I  couldn't  pay  money  or  not,  just  as 
I  please." 

"It  isn't  humbug,  Mr.  Stacy,  but  a  question  of  benig- 
nant morality,  which  it  is  every  woman's  duty  to  take  up 
and  hurl  back,  till  she  totters  on  the  brink,  martyr-like, 
between  heaven  and  earth  !  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Hep- 
worth  ?  " 

"Did  you  ever  hear  anything  up  to  that?"  exclaimed 
Stacy,  swelling  with  pompous  satisfaction.  "  Harriet  is 
the  sort  of  woman  that  a  man  of  substance  can  depend  on, 
morrerly,  financierly,  and — and — .  Not  that  I'm  going  to 
give  in,  you  know;  but  it's  satisfaction  to  know  that  your 
money  has  lifted  such  a  person  into  her  proper  spear." 

"  That's  very  kind  of  you,  and  I  feel  it,  Stacy,  dear ;  but 
when  you  speak  of  lifting  me  up  with  your  money,  who  was 
it  that  owned  the  first  five  hundred  dollars  you,  or  me,  Mr. 
Stacy?" 

"  Harriet ! " 

"It's  no  use  thundering  out  my  baptismal  name  against 
me,  Mr.  Stacy,  for  that's  a  thing  I  won't  bear  at  no  price  ! 
Truth  is  truth,  Mr.  Hepworth,  and  rich  as  that  man  is, 
rolling  over  and  over  in  gold,  like  a  porpose  in  salt  water, 
it  was  my  five  hundred  dollars  that  did  it !  Let  him  say  if 
I  didn't  own  that  much  ?  " 

"  But  didn't  I  marry  you,  and  then  didn't  you  own  me  ? 
Would  you  set  down  good  looks,  financial  ability,  and  moral 
character  A  number  one,  at  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
you — " 

What  was  coming  next  Hepworth  was  destined  never  to 
learn,  for  Mrs.  Stacy,  overcome  by  a  fit  of  conjugal  remorse, 


THE    t)PERATIC     SUPPER.  77 

leaned  forward   and   placed   one   substantial   hand   in  the 
flame-colored  glove  of  her  husband. 

"  Matthew,  forgive  me  !  I  didn't  mean  it.  That  men- 
tion of  the  primmer  donner  and  her  protager  upset  me ;  but 
I  am  your  wife  yet,  Stacy,  dear — your  true  and  lawful  wife 
— just  as  ready  to  travel  with  you  into  every  tropical  cli- 
mate of  Europe  as  I  ever  was." 

Stacy  would  not  clasp  his  flame-colored  fingers  around 
that  hand,  but  let  it  drop  with  ignominious  looseness,  while 
he  drew  a  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  buried  his  face 
in  it. 

"  Harriet !  Harriet !  you  have  hurt  my  feelings,  mortified 
my — my  manhood  before  an  old  friend  ! " 

It  was  in  the  night,  the  carriage  was  close,  the  lamps 
dim,  and  Hepworth  only  knew  that  there  a  heap  of  drapery 
launched  itself  into  the  front  seat,  that  a  voice  came  from 
the  midst,  saying : 

"  Oh,  Matthew !  Matthew ! " 

Then  the  white  handkerchief  dropped  like  a  flag  at  half 
mast,  and  the  reconciliation  was  complete. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    OPERATIC     SUPPER. 

"  INDEEB,  Mr.  Gloss,  I  insist !  " 

"  But,  my   dear   child,  I   have  no  particular  desire   to 

go-" 

"  That  is  because  you  think  that  I  care  about  it.  Why 
should  I  ?  In  fact,  it  is  unbearable  that  you  should  have 
the  idea." 

Hepworth  Gloss  had  in  all  loyalty  told  Lady  Clara  of  the 


78  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

invitation  he  had  received  from  Olympia,  and,  instead  of 
resenting  it  as  he  expected,  she  met  his  vague  desire  more 
than  half-way — one  of  the  wisest  things  any  woman  can 
do,  for  half  the  sins  in  the  world  are  committed  because 
they  are  forbidden  ;  not  that  this  young  girl  knew  of  the 
wisdom.  With  her,  it  was  half  pride,  half  bravado ;  she 
was  indignant  that  Hepworth  should  think  of  going — more 
indignant  that  he  should  have  refused  the  invitation  at 
once,  without  telling  her  of  it. 

The  result  was,  she  insisted  on  his  accepting  it,  though 
her  heart  was  burning  with  jealousy  all  the  time. 

Gloss,  as  I  have  said  somewhere,  had  learned  many 
things  in  his  travels  ;  but  in  Japan  and  the  frontier  countries 
of  America  girls  like  Clara  had  not  often  come  under  his 
observation,  and  he  was  far  too  deeply  in  love  for  a  cool  ex- 
amination of  her  character  or  actions. 

So  her  impulse  of  unbounded  generosity  deceived  him 
utterly,  and  having  some  shrinking  curiosity  regarding 
Daniel  Yates'  daughter,  he  resolved  to  accept  Olympia's 
invitation. 

Of  course,  Clara  found  a  dozen  absurd  reasons  for  quar- 
reling with  him  that  day,  not  one  of  which  seemed  to  re- 
late to  Olympia  ;  yet  that  beautiful  woman  was  the  root  of 
them  all,  if  Hepworth  could  have  understood  it. 

But  he  only  comprehended  that  every  room  in  that 
sumptuous  dwelling  was  dull  as  a  wilderness  on  that  partic- 
ular Sabbath  day.  Kachael  kept  her  room;  Clara  would 
not  make  herself  agreeable ;  and  he  felt  it  a  relief  when 
night  came  and  took  him  to  the  little  bijou  of  a  mansion 
where  Olympia  was  waiting  the  advent  of  her  guests. 

Hepworth  had  seen  this  woman  in  New  York,  and  knew 
something  of  the  fantastic  elegance  with  which  she  could 
surround  herself;  but  the  house  he  entered  surpassed  any- 
thing he  had  ever  seen  in  that  republican  city. 


THE     OPERATIC     SUPPER,  79 

Nothing  sad  or  even  grave  in  art  or  nature  was  ever  per- 
mitted to  visit  the  Queen  of  Song  in  her  own  home.  Her 
servants  were  expected  to  be  smiling  and  cheerful.  There 
was  not  a  sombre  corner  in  her  dwelling. 

The  very  hall  was  a  marvel  of  art ;  statuettes  of  snow- 
white  marble,  airy  and  graceful  as  stone  could  be  chiselled, 
seemed  ready  to  escort  the  guest  into  the  unique  drawing- 
room  beyond. 

Delicate  bric-a-brac  occupied  gilded  brackets  on  the 
walls,  or  crowded  the  statuettes  upon  the  floor;  a  laughing 
faun  held  back  the  silken  curtain  that  concealed  the  en- 
trance to  that  inner  room  where  the  goddesss  herself  pre- 
sided ;  a  soft  mellow  light  fell  upon  these  treasures,  making 
their  beauty  still  more  exquisite. 

A  servant  in  silver  and  blue  livery  admitted  Hepworth, 
and  pointed  to  the  faun,  who  seemed  inviting  him  forward 
with  a  fantastic  gesture. 

The  servant  disappeared,  his  duties  ended  when  the  outer 
door  was  opened. 

Those  who  visited  Olympia  were  supposed  to  know  their 
way  to  her  presence.  Hepworth  lingered  a  moment  in  the 
hall.  Those  beautiful  marble  people  seemed  enticing  him  to 
stay,  and,  for  the  instant,  he  felt  an  unaccountable  reluc- 
tance to  present  himself  before  the  actress  ;  a  feeling  of  hu- 
miliation came  upon  him  that  he  should  be  willing  to  visit 
any  woman  whom  the  lady  of  his  love  could  not  meet  on 
equal  terms.  What  right  had  he  there  ? 

This  question  was  almost  upon  his  lips,  when  a  silken 
rustle  made  him  hold  his  breath.  It  was  a  young  girl,  tall, 
%tately,  beautiful,  coming  down  the  marble  stairs.  He  was 
standing  near  the  centre  of  the  floor,  but  drew  back,  step  by 
step,  as  the  girl  descended,  turning  white  and  cold,  as  if 
there  had  been  some  wrong  in  his  admiration  of  an  antique 


80  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

group  in  bronze,  which  occupied  a  bracket  on  the  wall  close 
by  him. 

The  girl  paused,  looked  toward  him,  and,  after  a  little 
hesitation,  crossed  the  hall. 

"Permit  me  to  show  you  the  way,"  she  said.  "The 
servant  should  not  have  left  you  so." 

Hepworth  did  not  speak,  but  stood  gazing  upon  her 
blankly.  Her  beauty  had  struck  him  dumb. 

She  made  a  little  gesture  with  her  hand  and  moved  on. 
He  followed,  without  a  word,  by  the  marble  faun,  through 
the  lifted  curtains,  and  into  the  presence  of  Olympia,  who 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  Gobelin  carpet,  with  the 
light  of  a  Venetian  chandelier  falling  over  her. 

She  was  becoming  impatient  for  the  arrival  of  her  guests. 
Yet  the  room  seemed  peopled  fully ;  for,  on  every  hand, 
mirrors  that  seemed  framed  in  a  network  of  gold,  threw  back 
and  duplicated  the  group  that  stood  there,  the  rich  coloring 
of  the  draperies,  two  vases  of  Malachite  and  Sevres,  the 
gifts  of  emperors,  and  the  carpet,  where  masses  of  blossoms 
seemed  starting  into  fresh  bloom,  wherever  a  footstep  trod 
them  down. 

"  Mr.  Hepworth  ! "  cried  Olympia  ;  "  my  good  American 
friend !  This  is  a  happiness ! " 

Hepworth  bowed  over  the  white  hand  she  held  out ;  but 
did  not  kiss  it,  as  she  might  have  expected,  being  used  to 
all  sorts  of  homage. 

She  looked  at  him  in  pleasant  astonishment,  dropped  her 
hand  with  a  faint  laugh,  and  turned  to  the  young  girl. 

"  Caroline,  you  have  never  seen  Mr.  Hepworth,  I  think." 

"  Gloss,  Hepworth  Gloss,  dear  lady ;  you  forget." 

"Do  I?  Well,  it  is  very  likely,  though,  I  am  sure,  we 
always  called  you  Hepworth  ;  but  that's  nothing ;  in  our 
Bohemian  set  we  generally  preferred  the  given  name,  and 


THE     OPERATIC     SUPPER.  81 

sometimes  only  took  half  of  that.  Ah,  ho  !  here  come  our 
friends  at  last !  " 

The  curtain  was  flung  back,  revealing  what  seemed  a 
crowd  in  the  hall,  which  soon  came  forward,  with  little 
ceremony,  and  some  rather  riotous  noise. 

Olympia  was  in  her  element  now.  Heart  and  soul  she 
loved  society,  and  all  these  persons  were  picked  people  of 
her  own  choice — brilliant  persons  in  their  various  capacities, 
each  bringing  a  store  of  wit  or  some  accomplishment  to 
swell  the  general  gaiety.  Artists,  dilettanti  noblemen,  epi- 
cures, and  persons  who  would  have  accompanied  Orpheus  in 
all  his  explorations  for  the  music  he  could  give  them. 

Of  course,  there  was  high  mirth  and  some  sparkling  wit 
among  a  group  like  this,  in  which  several  females  mingled 
brilliantly,  and  sang  like  sirens  after  Olympia  had  set  them 
the  example!  These  were  professional,  of  course,  but  won- 
derfully clever,  and  talked  charmingly,  as  women  who  are 
reckless  of  criticism  usually  do;  but  in  all  that  was  said,  a 
certain  Vein  of  doubtful  license  sometimes  brought  the  color 
to  Caroline's  cheek.  She  could  not  thoroughly  understand 
the  conversation  of  these  people.  They  seemed  to  have 
come  out  of  another  world  to  astonish  and  bewilder  her. 
She  knew  that  some  of  the  men  present  were  noblemen, 
and  saw  that  their  manners,  and  even  the  tones  of  their 
voices,  changed  when  they  addressed  her. 

From  the  secluded  life  she  had  led,  this  girl  was  inca- 
pable of  making  quick  comparisons.  She  only  knew  that 
none  of  these  men  possessed  the  gentle  tenderness  or  the 
proud  bearing  of  the  teacher,  who  had  become  to  her  a 
beau-ideal  of  true  manhood.  Of  all  the  men  present  she 
felt  the  most  sympathy  with  Hepworth  Gloss.  He  had 
been  in  America,  had  known  the  places  she  loved  so  well, 
and  could  understand  her  loneliness  in  a  scene  like  that ; 


82  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

but  there  was  something  even  in  this  man  that  startled  her 
a  little. 

His  fine  eyes  were  frequently  lifted  to  her  face  with  a 
look  that  troubled  her,  a  look  that  seemed  to  go  beyond  her 
and  far  away  into  the  past  or  future.  What  was  he  think- 
ing of?  Why  were  his  answers  about  America  so  dreamy 
and  vague  ?  Why  did  he  look  so  sad  while  the  voice  of 
Olympia  was  filling  the  whole  house  with  such  glorious 
bursts  of  music  ? 

Before  she  could  answer  any  of  these  questions,  Olympia 
arose  from  the  piano,  and,  with  a  light  wave  of  her  hand, 
said : 

"  Come,  Caroline,  let  them  hear  what  is  in  your  voice." 

How  careless  and  natural  it  all  seemed  !  What  a  tumult 
of  smiles  and  entreaties  followed  these  few  caressing  words ! 

They  were  words  of  iron  to  that  proud,  shrinking  girl. 
She  knew  how  much  of  stern,  selfish  power  lay  under  the 
peach-like  softness  of  that  voice.  Her  color  went  and 
came ;  her  lips  parted  in  absolute  terror.  She  understood 
now  why  she  had  been  permitted  to  join  her  mother's 
guests  for  the  first  time. 

"  Come,  my  darling  !  " 

Olympia's  voice  grew  softer,  sweeter ;  but  there  was  an 
undertone  in  it  that  Caroline  dared  not  disobey.  She  arose, 
white  and  cold,  her  limbs  trembling,  her  eyes  turned  upon 
Olympia  like  those  of  a  hunted  doe  appealing  for  its  life ; 
but  there  was  no  relenting  in  that  beautiful  face — nothing 
but  smiles. 

Hepworth  Gloss  saw  how  cruelly  the  proud  girl  suffered, 
and  was  by  her  side  in  an  instant.  The  firm  clasp  of  his 
hand,  as  he  led  her  to  the  piano,  gave  her  strength.  She 
thanked  him  with  a  look,  and  those  frightened  eyes  im- 
plored him  to  stay  by  her,  as  if  he  were  the  only  friend  she 
recognized  in  the  room. 


THE     OPERATIC     SUPPER.  83 

It  must  be  a  terrible  fright  that  can  entirely  overcome 
real  genius. 

The  first  notes  of  Caroline's  voice  trembled  out  from  her 
lips  like  the  cry  of  a  young  bird  when  it  first  tempts  the  air. 
The  intense  stillness  with  which  the  little  group  listened, 
took  away  her  breath.  But  all  this  passed  away  ;  her  voice 
gathered  up  its  tones  and  swelled  into  a  power  of  music 
that  Olyinpia,  in  her  best  days,  had  never  reached.  She 
forgot  the  people  around  her — forgot  everything  but  the 
glorious  genius  which  thrilled  her  whole  being  with  ecstasies 
of  harmony.  The  nightingale,  nested  in  clustering  roses 
and  bathed  with  moonlight,  never  poured  forth  its  song 
with  a  sweeter  impulse. 

At  first  it  was  the  desperation  of  genius,  but  that  soon 
merged  itself  into  an  exquisite  power  that  held  her  little 
audience  in  amazement. 

Olympia  grew  restless.  Had  she,  with  her  own  hands, 
given  her  crown  and  sceptre  to  another?  How  superbly 
beautiful  the  creature  looked  with  that  glow  of  inspiration 
on  her  face !  How  her  own  devoted  adorers  crowded 
around  the  piano,  leaving  her  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd 
quite  alone  ! 

•  The  woman's  self-love  and  most  active  vanity  were  dis- 
turbed ;  but  above  that  rose  another  passion  that  had  of 
late  years  grown  strong  within  her — avarice.  She  recog- 
nized the  sure  ring  of  gold  in  those  notes,  and  exulted 
over  it. 

As  Caroline  turned  from  the  piano  flushed,  and,  as  it 
were,  inspired  by  a  new  life,  a  little  storm  of  bravos  broke 
over  her.  Just  then  the  supper-room  was  thrown  open ; 
but  even  the  exquisite  picture  it  presented  failed  to  draw 
the  crowd  from  its  new  idol. 

But  Caroline  was  falling  back  to  her  normal  state,  and  all 
$his  tumultuous  admiration  terrified  her. 
5 


84  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

This  annoyed  Olympia,  also.  She  made  a  signal  to  the 
servant  who  stood  waiting,  and  his  announcement,  in  a 
loud  voice,  that  supper  was  served,  broke  up  the  crowd 
which  held  Caroline  prisoner. 

Olympia  led  the  way  into  the  most  superb  little  supper- 
room  that  even  an  artist  could  imagine.  It  was,  in  fact,  a 
temple,  connected  only  by  one  compartment  with  the 
house. 

A  shallow  dome,  with  ground  glass,  through  which  a 
tender  light  shone  like  sunbeams  through  sifted  snow, 
by  a  gilded  network  over  ground  glass,  which  also  reflected 
hidden  lights  like  a  chain  of  clouded  stars. 

This  gallery  was  connected  with  the  floor  by  slender 
marble  shafts,  around  which  passion  flowers,  white  jes- 
samines, creeping  dwarf  roses,  and  other  clinging  plants 
wove  their  blossoms  up  to  the  lighted  gallery,  whence  they 
fell  in  delicate  spray,  forming  arches  of  flowers  all  around 
the  room. 

The  recesses  thus  garlanded  in  were  lined  with  mirrors, 
in  which  the  crimson  cushions  of  couch  and  chair,  the 
splendid  supper  table,  with  all  its  rich  paraphernalia  of 
frosted  plate,  sparkling  glass,  translucent  wines,  and  fruit  in 
all  its  mellow  gorgeousness  of  coloring  were  reflected  over 
and  over  again. 

When  that  gay  crowd  came  into  the  room,  led  by 
Olympia,  every  recess  seemed  to  fill  with  its  own  merry 
company,  and  in  each  that  handsome  prima  donna  presided 
like  a  goddess ;  while  the  tall  figure  of  a  proud,  beautiful 
girl  sat  near,  looking  strangely  wild  and  anxious  as  a  loud, 
bacchanalian  spirit  broke  into  the  scene,  and  turned  it  into 
a  revel.  Amid  the  gurgle  of  wine  and  the  mellow  crush  of 
fruit,  some  one  called  out : 

"  Fill  up !  fil]  up  I  A  bumper  to  our  new  Queen  of 
Song!" 


THE     OPERATIC     SUPPER.  85 

With  a  half-suppressed  shout  and  a  waving  of  glasses, 
the  party  sprang  up,  drops  of  amber  and  ruby  wine  rained 
down  to  the  table  from  a  reckless  overflow  of  the  uplifted 
goblets. 

Every  recess  gave  back  the  picture  with  endless  change 
of  view;  and  then  the  voice  called  out  again : 

"  To-morrow  night  we  will  show  her  how  England  can 
receive  American  genius  and  American  beauty.  Lady,  we 
drink  to  you." 

To-morrow  night !  Every  vestige  of  color  fled  from  that 
poor  girl's  face.  She  attempted  to  rise,  supported  herself 
with  one  hand  on  the  table  a  moment,  then  in  the  midst  of 
that  riotous  toast,  sank  back  to  her  chair,  with  her  face 
turned  imploringly  on  Hepworth  Gloss. 

When  the  revellers  had  drained  their  glasses  and  turned 
to  look  for  a  reward  in  the  face  they  had  pronounced  divine, 
it  had  disappeared.  Amid  the  confusion,  Hepworth  had  led 
Caroline  from  the  room. 

"  It  is  too  much  for  her,"  said  Olympia,  tossing  half  a 
dozen  peaches  on  the  table  in  her  search  for  the  mellowest. 
"  She  is  such  a  noble,  grateful  creature,  and  has  not  yet 
learned  how  to  receive  homage." 

"  While  our  Olympia  almost  disdains  it.  Fill  up  for  our 
goddess,  The  Olympia ! " 

"Wait  a  minute!" 

It  was  the  young  noble  next  the  actress  who  spoke.  He 
had  taken  some  grape-leaves  from  a  crystal  vase  near  him, 
and  was  weaving  the  smallest  amber-hued  and  purple 
clusters  with  them  in  a  garland,  with  which  he  crowned  the 
goddess  before  her  libation  was  poured  out.  She  accepted 
the  homage,  laughing  almost  boisterously,  and  when  the 
grape-wreath  was  settled  in  her  golden  hair,  stood  up,  a 
Bacchante  that  Rubens  would  have  worshipped ;  for  it  made 


86  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

no  difference  to  her  in  what  form  adulation  came,  so  long 
as  she  monopolized  it. 

That  moment  Caroline  was  lying  upon  her  bed  up-stairs, 
shaking  in  every  limb,  and  crying  in  bitterness  of  spirit. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BEHIND     THE     SCENES. 

had  selected  an  auspicious  time  for  the  first 
appearance  of  her  protege,  as  she  always  persisted  in  calling 
Caroline. 

It  was  the  fashion  just  then  to  recognize  American 
genius  with  something  like  enthusiasm,  and  the  very  sud- 
denness with  which  this  young  girl  had  been  brought  for- 
ward operated  in  her  favor. 

A  glowing  account  of  her  voice  and  beauty  had  reached 
the  public  just  at  a  time  when  no  special  excitement  occu- 
pied it,  and  this  served  to  draw  a  crowd  around  the  opera 
house  long  before  the  hour  of  opening. 

On  the  outskirts  of  this  crowd,  the  carriage  which  con- 
tained Olympia  and  her  victim — for  such  the  heroine  of  the 
evening  really  was — made  its  wajr  toward  the  stage  doo*. 
Olympia  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  cried  exultingly: 

"  Look,  child,  look !  Hundreds  of  people  waiting 
already  !" 

Caroline  cast  one  frightened  glance  at  the  crowd,  and 
shrank  back  with  a  faint  moan. 

Just  as  the  audience  began  to  pour  in  through  the 
opened  doors  the  carriage  drove  up  to  the  stage  entrance, 
and  Olympia  took  a  leap  from  the  steps  and  held  the  car- 
riage door  open  with  her  own  hand,  while  Caroline  de- 


BEHIND     THE     SCENES.  87 

scended  more  slowly.  The  light  from  a  neighboring  lamp 
fell  upon  her  face,  and  revealed  the  tears  that  stood  upon 
her  cheeks,  and  a  half  rebellious  look  in  the  eyes,  which 
Olympia  saw,  and  met  with  angry  bitterness. 

"  Crying  again  ?  Shooting  spiteful  looks  at  me,  as  if  I 
were  a  monster,  instead  of  a  tender,  considerate,  self-sacri- 
ficing mother,  ready  to  share  everything  with  you,  even  my 
glory  !  Was  ever  such  ingratitude  ?  " 

Caroline  did  not  answer,  but  walked  into  the  narrow  door, 
and  stood  upon  the  dreary  stage,  panting  for  breath,  like 
some  superb  animal  from  the  wild  woods,  hunted  down,  and 
without  hopes  of  escape. 

"  This  way — come  this  way,"  said  Olympia,  taking  hold 
of  her  arm.  "  Perhaps  you  will  remember  that  we  are  late. 
The  audience  was  crowding  in  like  a  torrent  when  we 
passed  the  door.  Come  ! " 

Caroline  allowed  herself  to  be  led  along  the  stage,  through 
yawning  vistas  of  scenery  ready  placed  for  use,  and  along 
dark  passages,  until  she  came  to  Olympia's  dressing-room,  in 
which  a  blaze  of  light  was  reflected  by  half-a-dozen  mirrors, 
and  fell  like  sunshine  on  a  pile  of  gorgeous  vestments  laid 
out  for  her  use. 

Caroline  shrank  back  with  a  faint,  sick  feeling.  Ob, 
how  everything  had  changed  since  she  was  so  fascinated  by 
a  scene  like  that !  Her  delicate,  proud  nature  revolted 
from  the  splendid  confusion.  From  her  very  heart  she 
loathed  the  sumptuous  garments  with  which  Olympia  had 
hoped  to  tempt  her. 

"  Is  there  no  hope  ?  "  she  cried,  desperately.  "  I  would 
rather  suffer  anything  than  undertake  this  part !" 

"  Hope  ?  Yes,  there  is  everything  to  hope.  The  house 
is  crowded  already.  There  never  was  so  fine  an  opening. 
Come,  make  ready  ! " 

"  Not  if  I  have  the  power  to  resist." 


88  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

She  spoke  in  a  low  but  resolute  voice,  which  frightened 
Olympia,  who  stood  gazing  at  the  pale  young  face  turned 
upon  her  with  a  frown  of  terrible  anger  gathering  on  her 
forehead. 

"Caroline,  you  cannot  resist.  My  word  is  given,  the 
contract  signed,  my  honor  pledged.  Would  you  disgrace 
me  forever  ?  " 

"Your  honor  pledged,  and  I  belong  to  you,"  said  the 
girl.  "  I  see,  I  see — there  is  no  escaping  !  It  is  my  miser- 
able destiny  ! " 

Caroline  took  off  the  cloak  in  which  she  was  wrapped, 
flung  down  all  her  magnificent  hair,  and  seated  herself 
before  one  of  the  mirrors. 

"  Do  with  me  as  you  please,"  she  said,  turning  a  weary 
glance  upon  the  mirror.  "It  may  be  my  death,  but  you 
will  have  it  so." 

The  next  moment  that  unhappy  girl  found  herself  in  the 
hands  of  a  clever  French  maid,  who  fairly  revelled  in  her 
task,  as  she  shook  out  that  rich  mass  of  hair,  and  held  it  up 
for  the  light  to  shine  through.  But  Caroline  took  no  heed. 
The  toilet  only  reminded  her  of  that  most  hideous  one 
when  Marie  Antoinette  was  prepared  for  the  scaffold.  For 
the  moment  she  almost  wished  it  possible  to  change  places 
with  that  unhappy  woman. 

But  the  French  waiting-maid  went  .on  with  her  work, 
while  Olympia  stood  by,  directing  her. 

Not  till  she  felt  a  soft  touch  on  her  cheek  did  the  girl 
rebel.  Then  she  started  up,  and,  pushing  the  maid  away, 
rubbed  her  cheek  with  a  handkerchief  so  resolutely  that  the 
maid  clapped  her  hands,  declaring  that  it  was  enough — no 
roses  could  be  more  lovely. 

Then  she  fell  to  her  task  again,  muttering  to  herself: 

"  Oh,  it  will  come  in  time  !  Youth  is  so  satisfied  with 
itself.  But  it  all  ends  in  that." 


BEHIND     THE     SCENES.  89 

Here  the  maid  nodded  toward  a  tiny  jar  of  rouge,  as  if  to 
encourage  it,  and  went  on  with  her  task. 

"  Now  look  at  yourself ! "  said  Qlympia,  tossing  aside 
some  garment  that  had  been  flung  over  the  swinging-glass. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

Caroline  looked,  and  saw  a  beautiful  woman,  with  sweep- 
ing garments  of  rose-colored  silk,  and  a  cloud  of  frost-like 
lace  flung  over  her  head  and  trailing  down  her  shoulders. 
Splendid  jewels — whether  real  or  false,  she  did  not  care  to 
ask — twinkled  like  stars  through  the  lace,  both  on  her  head 
and  bosom.  The  pictures  thus  reflected  were  beautiful,  but 
stormy. 

Olympia  saw  that  the  rebellious  spirit  was  but  half 
subdued. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  she  said,  in  her  perplexity,  address- 
ing the  maid,  who  lifted  up  both  hands  and  shook  her  head 
as  she  answered : 

"  Ah,  rnadame  !  if  a  toilet  like  that  fails,  who  can  say  ?  " 

"  I  will  send  for  Brown.  She  will  listen  to  him,"  said 
Olympia,  driven  to  desperation.  "With  that  spirit,  she 
will  never  get  the  rollicking  air  for  her  first  act." 

She  went  to  the  door,  and  found  the  teacher  lingering 
near,  restless  and  anxious  almost  as  herself. 

"  Brown — I  say,  Brown — come  in  !  She  is  dressed,  but 
so  obstinate !  If  she  were  about  to  play  Norma,  it  would 
be  worth  everything,  but  in  this  part — !  Do  come  in,  dear 
Brown,  and  get  her  up  to  the  proper  feeling." 

Brown  entered  the  room  in  absolute  distress.  He  would 
gladly  have  kept  that  young  creature  from  the  stage ;  but 
having  no  power  to  aid  her  in  avoiding  it,  was  nervously 
anxious  that  she  should  make  a  success. 

Caroline  turned  to  him  at  once,  and  came  forward  with 
her  hands  held  out. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Brown,  Kelp  me !    It  is  not  too  late.     Let 


90  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

them  say  I  am  sick.  Indeed,  indeed,  it  will  be  true  !  She 
can  take  the  part,  and  leave  me  in  peace.  Ask  her,  beg  of 
her ;  say  that  I  will  go  into  her  kitchen,  be  her  maid,  go 
out  as  a  teacher — anything  on  earth,  if  she  will  only  spare 
me  this  once  !  Ask  her,  Mr.  Brown.  Sometimes  she  will 
listen  to  you  ! " 

Brown  held  both  her  hands.  They  were  cold  as  ice,  and 
he  felt  that  she  was  trembling  all  over. 

"  My  dear,  dear  child  !  I  have  pleaded  with  her.  I  have 
done  my  best." 

"  But  again — again  !     Oh,  Mr.  Brown,  do ! " 

Brown  drew  Olympia  on  one  side,  and  entreated  her  to 
give  the  unhappy  girl  more  time;  but  he  knew  well  enough 
that  he  was  asking  almost  an  impossibility — that  the  woman 
had  no  power  to  grant  that  which  he  implored  of  her.  In 
her  arrogant  power  she  had  pledged  that  young  creature, 
body  and  soul,  to  the  public.  How  could  she  draw  back, 
when  the  crowding  rush  of  the  audience  might  now  be 
heard  from  the  place  where  they  stood. 

Still  the  man  pleaded  with  her,  for  he  loved  the  girl 
better  than  anything  on  earth,  and,  knowing  something  of 
the  feelings  which  made  the  stage  so  repulsive  to  her, 
would  have  died  to  save  her  from  the  pain  of  that  night's 
experience. 

Olympia  was  impatient,  nervous,  angry.  What  did  the 
man  think  ?  Was  she  to  throw  away  the  chances  of  a  great 
success  and  a  brilliant  fortune,  because  a  romantic  girl  did 
not  know  her  own  mind  ?  Was  she  to  disgrace  herself 
before  all  London  ? 

Brown  had  no  answer.  The  whole  thing  was  unreason- 
able—he knew  that  well  enough  ;  but  his  heart  ached  for 
the  poor  girl.  So  he  had  done  his  best,  and  failed  mise- 
rably. 

"  Go  back  and  cheer  the  foolish  thing  up,"  said  Olympia. 


THE     FIRST     PERFORMANCE.  91 

"You  can  do  it.  She  loves  you  better  than  any  one  in  the 
world.  Now,  if  you  want  to  oblige  me,  give  her  courage, 
soothe  her.  I  never  saw  such  a  creature !  With  the 
genius  and  voice  of  an  angel,  she  has  no  ambition  ;  but  it 
will  come.  Before  the  drinking  song  is  over,  she  will  forget 
herself.  Go,  Brown,  and  give  her  courage." 

Brown  went  back  to  the  dressing-room,  feeling  like  an 
executioner. 

Caroline  met  him  eagerly;  but  when  she  saw  his  face, 
her  heart  turned  to  stone. 

"  I  see  !  I  see  ! "  she  said.  "  I  am  doomed !  But,  re- 
member, I  was  forced  into  this.  Of  my  own  choice,  I  would 
have  died  first;  but  she  is  my  mother,  and,  in  my  ignorance, 
I  promised  her.  Tell  him  this,  if  you  should  ever  see  him. 
I  never  shall.  After  what  he  said  of  parts  like  this,  I 
should  perish  with  shame.  Ha !  what's  that  ?  " 

"  They  are  calling  you,"  faltered  Brown. 

She  caught  a  sharp  breath  and  sprang  away  from  him, 
like  a  deer  when  the  hounds  are  in  full  cry. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   FIRST   PERFORMANCE. 

THE  opera-house  was  full  from  floor  to  dome.  A  cheerful 
multitude  crowded  the  body  of  the  house  with  smiling  faces, 
and  filled  it  with  gay  colors,  till  it  shone  out  gorgeously, 
like  a  thickly-planted  flower-garden.  The  boxes  filled, 
more  slowly ;  but,  after  half  an  hour  of  soft,  silken  rustle 
and  answering  smiles,  they,  too,  were  crowded  with  distin- 
guished men  and  beautiful  women  of  the  British  aristocracy, 
and  the  whole  arena  was  lighted  up  with  the  splendor  of 


92  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

their  garments  and  the  flaming  brightness  of  their  jewels. 
Then  came  a  movement,  and  a  low  murmur  of  discontent, 
which  the  grandest  efforts  of  the  orchestra  could  not  silence. 
The  hour  had  arrived,  but  the  curtain  was  still  down. 
Was  there  to  be  a  disappointment,  after  all  ? 

In  the  midst  of  this  growing  confusion  a  party  entered 
one  of  the  most  prominent  boxes  that  drew  the  general 
attention  in  that  part  of  the  house.  A  lady  in  crimson 
velvet,  with  some  gossamer  lace  about  her  arms  and  bosom, 
and  a  cobweb  of  the  same  rich  material  floating  from  the 
thick  braids  of  her  coal-black  hair,  came  into  the  box,  fol- 
lowed by  a  gentleman  so  like  her  that  people  exclaimed  at 
once : 

"  It  is  her  brother ! " 

These  two  persons  were  accompanied  by  a  bright  young 
girl,  in  white  muslin,  with  a  blue  ribbon  drawn  through  her 
hair  like  a  snood,  and  a  string  of  large  pearls  on  her  neck. 
The  girl  was  beautiful  as  a  Hebe,  and  bright  as  a  star — so 
bright  and  so  beautiful  that  a  whole  battery  of  glasses  was 
turned  on  the  box  the  moment  she  entered  it.  Then  a 
murmur  ran  from  lip  to  lip. 

"  It  is  Lady  Hope,  that  person  who  was  once  a  governess, 
and  the  young  lady  must  be  Hope's  daughter  by  his  first 
marriage — the  future  Lady  Carset,  if  the  old  countess  ever 
dies,  which  she  never  will,  if  it  is  only  to  spite  that  woman 
yonder,  whom  she  hates.  Beautiful ! " 

"  You  are  speaking  of  Lady  Hope  ?  Yes,  very ;  but. 
strange !  Night  and  morning  are  not  farther  apart  than 
those  two.  Yet  I  am  told  they  are  devoted  to  each  other." 

"Not  unlikely.  See  how  the  woman  smiles  when  the 
Hebe  speaks  to  her !  Wonderful  fascination  in  that  face. 
Just  the  person  to  carry  away  a  man  like  Hope." 

Here  the  conversation  was  broken  off  by  an  impatient 
outburst  of  the  audience. 


THE     FIRST     PERFORMANCE.  93 

In  obedience  to  it  the  curtain  rolled  up,  and  the  first  act 
of  "Traviata"  commenced. 

The  tumult  stopped  instantly,  and  every  face  was  turned 
with  expectation  on  the  stage,  ready  to  greet  "  the  lost  one  " 
with  a  generous  welcome. 

She  came  in  hurriedly,  with  her  head  erect,  her  hand 
clenching  that  cloud  of  lace  to  her  bosom,  and  her  eyes 
bright  as  stars.  A  stag  hunted  to  desperation  would  have 
turned  at  bay  with  a  look  like  that ;  and  the  poor  animal 
might  have  recoiled  as  she  did,  when  that  wild  burst  of 
admiration  stormed  over  her.  For  the  outcry  of  the  most 
vicious  hounds  that  ever  ran  could  not  have  been  more 
appalling  to  a  victim  than  that  generous  welcome  was  to 
her. 

She  did  not  bow  or  smile,  but  retreated  slowly  back,  step 
by  step,  until  a  voice  from  behind  the  scene  startled  her. 
Then  she  bent  her  tall  figure  a  little  forward,  her  head 
drooped  to  her  bosom,  and  her  hands  were  clenched  passion- 
ately under  the  laces. 

Again  those  who  were  nearest  heard  the  voice,  but  did 
not  understand  it  as  that  poor  girl  did.  In  her  panic  the 
little  acting  that  belonged  to  the  scene  was  utterly  over- 
looked ;  but  this  proud  indifference  was  something  new,  and 
charmed  the  audience,  which  took  her  wounded  pride  for 
superb  disdain  of  a  pampered  beauty,  and  accepted  it  as  a 
graceful  innovation ;  while  she  stood  trembling  from  head  to 
foot,  conscious  only  of  a  burning  desire  to  break  away  from 
it  all  and  hide  herself  forever.  She  did  once  move  swiftly 
toward  the  wing,  but  there  stood  Olympia,  and  the  first 
glimpse  of  that  frowning  face  drove  her  back,  panting  for 
breath. 

The  audience,  seeing  her  panic,  encouraged  her  with 
applause  less  stormy  and  more  sustaining. 

She  felt   this   kindness.     The   multitude  were   less  her 


94  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

enemy  than  the  woman  who  stood  in  the  shadows,  hound- 
ing her  on.  Among  all  that  sea  of  faces  she  saw  one — that 
of  a  young  girl,  leaning  over  the  crimson  cushions  of  a  box 
near  the  stage,  so  eager,  so  earnest,  so  bright  with  generous 
sympathy,  that  youth  answered  back  to  youth  ;  a  smile 
broke  over  her  own  face,  and  with  it  came  her  voice,  fresh, 
pure,  soaring  like  a  bird  suddenly  let  loose  on  the  air. 

The  audience  listened  in  breathless  sympathy,  which 
encouraged  her.  There  was  no  doubt  now  ;  fear  could  not 
long  hold  such  genius  in  thrall ;  her  movements  became 
free,  her  features  brightened.  She  flung  the  lace  back  from 
her  head,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  joyous  riot  of  that 
drinking  song. 

In  the  midst  of  this  scene,  when  every  one  present,  on 
and  off  the  stage,  was  lavishing  homage  upon  her,  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  the  young  girl  who  leaned  forward,  poising  her- 
self in  the  box,  like  a  bird  preparing  for  flight,  and  clapped 
her  little  hand  with  the  glee  of  a  delighted  child. 

Once  more  their  smiles  met.  Then  a  deathly  faintness 
came  over  the  debutante,  and  without  a  word  or  motion  she 
sank  upon  the  stage,  like  a  statue  of  snow  which  the  sun 
had  touched. 

In  the  next  box,  leaning  forward  like  that  young  girl — 
but  oh  !  with  what  a  different  expression — she  had  seen  the 
Italian  teacher,  her  lover. 

The  drinking-song  was  hushed  in  its  most  exultant  swell 
— the  revellers  drew  around  the  fainting  girl  and  carried 
her  from  the  stage,  helpless  as  an  infant,  white  as  the  lace 
that  clouded  her. 

The  audience  watched  them  bear  her  away  in  silence; 
then  it  broke  into  murmurs  of  regret  and  sympathy. 

"  The  effort  had  been  too  much  for  her.  Of  course,  such 
genius  was  accompanied  with  corresponding  sensitiveness, 


THE     FIRST     PERFORMANCE.  95 

but  she  would  speedily  recover.  It  was  only  a  little  inter- 
ruption." 

They  were  mistaken.  The  debutante  did  not  return  that 
night;  but  in  her  place  came  Olympia,  with  a  little  tragedy 
in  her  face,  and  a  touching  speech,  which  excited  admira- 
tion for  herself  and  unbounded  sympathy  for  her  protege ; 
after  which,  she  entered  into  the  character  of  Violette,  with 
a  grace  of  action  and  a  power  of  voice  that  carried  the 
management  through  what  had  threatened  to  be  a  serious 
dilemma. 

The  truth  is,  this  woman,  Olympia,  was  a  remarkably 
clever  person,  and  knew  how  to  manage  her  subjects  a  great 
deal  better  than  some  monarchs  of  England  have  done. 
But  she  was  in  a  raging  passion  that  night,  and  the  excite- 
ment lent  her  force,  which  she  exhausted  in  the  part,  while 
her  child  lay  moaning  on  the  dressing-room  sofa. 

In  the  midst  of  the  first  confusion,  that  young  girl  in  the 
box  had  started  up,  and  laid  her  hand  on  Hepworth  Gloss's 
arm. 

"  Go  back  to  where  they  have  taken  her.  You  know  the 
way.  Tell  my  maid,  Margaret,  to  come  to  me  at  once. 
No,  no ;  take  me  with  you.  I  may  be  of  use.  Poor  girl ! 
poor  girl !  They  have  almost  killed  her." 

"  But  it  is  impossible,"  said  Gloss,  looking  toward  Lady 
Hope,  who  was  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  box,  with 
her  face  turned  away.  "  She  would  not  permit  it." 

"  She  does  not  object.  We  need  not  be  seen.  No  one 
will  recognize  us.  Come  !  come  ! " 

She  took  Hepworth's  arm,  and  almost  forced  him  from 
the  box. 

"  Which  way  ?     Come !  come !     I  will  go." 

Hepworth  had  been  too  often  behind  the  scenes  not  to 
know  how  to  gain  admittance  there  on  this  occasion.  He 
knew  how  resolute  that  young  creature  was,  when  a  gen- 


96  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

erous  or  daring  idea  possessed  her,   and,  after  waiting  a 
moment  for  Lady  Hope  to  speak,  led  Lady  Clara  away. 

Clara  was  bewildered  and  almost  terrified  by  the  black 
darkness  of  the  passage,  which  was  lighted  only  by  fitful 
gleams  from  the  stage ;  but  excitement  kept  up  her  cour- 
age, and  she  entered  Olympia's  dressing-room  with  the  ait 
of  a  person  born  to  the  tragic  purple.  •;  s 


CHAPTER  X.. 

THE   TWO   FOSTER-CHILDREN   MEET. 

CAROLINE  was  lying  upon  a  heap  of  rich  garments  piled 
on  the  sofa.  She  was  trembling  still,  and  every  few  mo- 
ments a  burst  of  bitter  sobs  broke  from  her.  Three  women 
were  standing  by — her  own  maid.  Eliza,  upon  whose  sym- 
pathetic face  tears  were  trembling ;  Margaret,  her  sister ; 
and,  most  conspicuous  of  all,  Olympia's  French  maid,  who 
bent  over  the  poor  girl,  with  a  bottle  of  perfume  in  each 
hand,  with  which  she  insisted  on  assuaging  the  unhappy 
girl's  anguish. 

Lady  Clara  comprehended  the  scene  at  a  glance,  went  up 
to  the  sofa,  took  the  French  maid  by  the  shoulders,  and 
wheeled  her  away  so  swiftly  that  the  bottles  jingled;  then 
she  fell  upon  her  knees  by  the  sofa,  and  flung  one  arm  over 
Caroline. 

"  Don't  mind  them  ;  don't  let  them  bother  you.  Just 
tell  me  what  has  come  over  you,  and  I'll  set  it  right,  or 
know  the  reason  why." 

The  voice,  so  sweet,  so  round  and  cheering,  aroused 
Caroline. 


THE     TWO     FOSTER-CHILDREN     MEET.      97 

She  rose  up  on  her  elbow,  and  seeing  the  bright,  honest 
face  which  had  bent  toward  her  so  kindly  from  the  box, 
reached  out  her  arras,  and  wound  them  over  Clara's  neck. 

"That's  right;  that's  sisterly.  I  wish  you  were  my 
sister ;  but  what's  the  use  of  wishing  ?  There  !  kiss  me 
again,  for  I  mean  to  be  a  mother  to  you — I  do,  indeed  ! 
Now  tell  me,  what  was  it  that  struck  you  down  so  ?  It  was 
frightful;  it  took  away  my  breath.  Tell  me  all  about  it. 
My  maid  here  and  yours  were  sisters,  and  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  we  knew  each  other  in  America.  But  that  is  so  long 
ago,  it  wouldn't  signify,  but  for  the  maids,  who  love  us  so, 
that  it  makes  a  sort  of  tie.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Oh,  if  it  could  !  if  it  could  !  I  have  no  relative  but  one, 
and  she  will  not  pity  me  !"  cried  Caroline,  clinging  to  Lady 
Clara.  "  She  will  make  me  go  back  to  that  hateful  part ! 
It  was  bad  enough  before,  but  now  I  should  die  of  shame ! " 

"  Why  ?    "Why  now  more  than  at  first  ?  "  inquired  Clara. 

"  I  will  tell  you.  I  know  who  you  are,  and  how  jjood 
every  one  thinks  you.  I  hate  the  stage  !" 

"  How  strange !  I  cannot  understand  it. 
know  how  I  envied  you  when  all  those  people  started  up, 
waving  their  handkerchiefs  and  shouting — to  see  them  so 
sorry  and  disappointed  when  you  did  not  come  back.  I 
could  hardly  keep  myself  from  leaping  over  the  box,  and 
asking  the  crowd  to  let  me  try !" 

Caroline  looked  into  that  animated  face  with  wonder. 
The  tears  stood  still  on  her  cheeks,  a  faint  smile  crept  into 
her  eyes.  Then  she  shook  her  head. 

"Ah!  I  understand.  There  was  a  time  when  I  thought 
like  you,  but  that  was  before — before — " 

"  Before  what  ?  Margaret  and  the  rest  of  you,  just  go 
outside.  The  room  isn't  large  enough  for  so*  many.  There, 
we  are  alone  now.  Just  tell  me  all  about  it.  You  can 
trust  me." 


98  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"I  know  it.  Well,  Lady  Clara — you  see  I  know  your 
name — " 

'•'Exactly.  But  just  call  me  Clara — nothing  more.  I 
really  don't  care  for  being  a  lady — at  any  rate,  not  much. 
That  one  thing  is  going  to  give  me  any  amount  of  trouble 
yet,  you'll  see.  Well,  now,  having  settled  the  lady,  tell  me 
why  and  when  you  began  to  hate  the  stage  so.  I  think  it 
is  a  glorious  life.  Just  put  me  where  you  stand,  without  a 
sovereign  to  help  myself  with,  and  I'd  give  up  the  ladyship 
to  you  in  a  minute." 

"  But  that  is  because  you  own  your  life." 

"  Own  my  life  ?  Of  course  I  do.  That  is  just  what 
every  soul  must  own." 

"  Not  if — if  she  cares  for  some  one  more  than  her  life." 

"  Oh-e !  oh-e !  That  is  the  secret !  And  he  don't  like 
it  ?  The  heathen  !  I  wish  he  had  seen  you  just  now  !" 

"  He  did.  He  was  standing  in  the  box  close  by  you.  I 
sajyhis  face,  for  the  first  time  in  months.  He  was  leaning 
!'d ;  his  eyes  met  mine.  They  were  full  of  reproach — 
contonpt,  perhaps.  I  could  not  tell,  for  the  house  swam 
rouna,  the  lights  seemed  leaping  toward  me.  Then  I  felt 
as  if  the  noise  were  putting  them  out,  for  everything  grew 
dark." 

"And  you  fainted  dead  away,  poor  dear !  I  know  how  to 
pity  you.  Not  that  I  have  had  trouble  yet ;  but  it  is  sure 
to  come,  and  then,  of  course,  you  will  be  sorry  for  me." 

"  I  shall,  indeed." 

"Just  as  I  am  sorry  for  you  now.  But  who  is  the 
man  ?  " 

"I  hardly  think  I  know.  He  gave  me\n  Italian  name, 
but  I  feel  sure  it  was  not  his." 

"  That  accounts  for  his  antipathy  to  the  stage.  If  he  had 
really  been  an  Italian,  your  singing  would  have  entranced 


THE     TWO     FOSTER-CHILDREN     MEET.      99 

him.     It   was   heavenly ;    but    an    Englishman — .     Well, 
well,  we  must  see!" 

That  moment  the  door  swung  open,  and  Olympia  came 
in,  radiant  with  jewels  and  fierce  with  anger.  She  saw 
Lady  Clara,  and  stopped  upon  the  threshold  in  haughty 
astonishment.  Caroline  shrank  from  the  stormy  expression 
of  her  face,  but  faltered  out : 

"  Madame,  it  is  Lady  Clara,  the  daughter  of  Lord  Hope." 

Instantly  the  frown  lost  itself  in  a  bland  smile.  Olympia 
was  equal  to  her  part  at  all  times.  She  did  not  often  see 
a  lady  of  rank  in  her  dressi rig-room,  and  the  honor  drove 
away  the  indignant  wrath  intended  for  Caroline. 

"Ah  ! "  she  said,  "  this  poor  child — it  was  so  unfortu- 
nate ! "  But  she  will  recover.  In  a  day  or  two  she  will  get 
back  her  courage.  What  a  voice  she  has,  nay  lady!  Did 
you  hear  ?  So  fresh,  so  powerful,  up  to  the  very  time  when 
she  broke  down.  What  could  have  occasioned  it  ?" 

"It  is  indeed  a  misfortune,"  said  Clara,  with  some 
dignity ;  "  because  I  am  sure  she  will  never  do  for  the  stage. 
Her  voice  is  superb,  but  so  uncertain  !  When  we  cowparo 
it  with  yours,  madame,  it  is  to  regret  that  she  ever  veit- 
tured  so  far." 

Olympia  seated  herself.  She  had  a  few  moments  to  spare 
before  the  call-boy  would  summon  her  back  to  the  stage. 

"  There  you  mistake,  my  lady.  When  I  was  her  age  no 
one  ever  dreamed  that  I  would  succeed  as  a  singer ;  but  you 
see  what  resolution  and  study  can  do." 

"  But  you  had  study ;  your  guardians  gave  plenty  of 
time.  Let  her  have  that  time ;  let  her  friends  have  an 
opportunity  to  think  what  is  best  for  her." 

"  Her  friends  ?  I  did  not  know  that  she  had  any  in 
England." 

"  Oh,  yes !     I  am  one ;  Lady  Hope  is  another.    Then 
there  is  Mr.  Gloss." 
6 


100  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Olympia.  "  It  is  to  that  gentleman  we  owe 
the  honor  of  this  visit  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Clara.  "  He  escorted  me  here.  Being 
Lady  Hope's  brother,  it  was  proper,  you  understand." 

Olympia  was  looking  in  Clara's  face.  The  girl  pleased 
her.  The  bright  mobility  of  her  features,  the  graceful 
gestures  with  which  she  emphasized  her  expressions, 
charmed  the  experienced  actress. 

"Ah,  if  my  daughter  had  your  abandon !  "  she  exclaimed, 
with  enthusiasm. 

"  Or  if  I  had  her  sweet  dignity.  But  fortune  is  some- 
times very  perverse.  Now  I  should  glory  in  the  applause 
which  makes  her  faint  away." 

"Ah  !  she  is  sensitive  as  a  child,  proud  as  a  duchess  ;  but, 
where  we  have  plenty  of  genius,  these  things  only  serve  to 
brighten  it.  I  shall  take  Caroline  into  my  own  training. 
When  you  come  to  hear  her  sing  again,  it  will  be  a  different 
affair." 

"Oh,  madam,  do  not  ask  it !  "  cried  Caroline,  in  a  panic. 
"  I  never,  never  can  go  on  to  that  stage  again  ! " 

"We  shall  see,"  answered  Olympia,  blandly.  "Here 
comes  the  call-boy ;  I  must  say  adieu,  with  many  thanks 
for  this  visit." 

"But  I  have  a  request  to  make.  You  will  give  her 
time?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  my  lady.     She  shall  have  sufficient  time." 

Olympia  went  out  smiling ;  but  Caroline  understood  the 
craft  that  lay  under  her  soft  words. 

"  You  see  that  I  have  accomplished  something,"  said 
Clara,  delighted  with  her  success;  "we  have  gained  time." 

"  No,  no !     She  will  have  her  way." 

"  What !  that  soft,  handsome  creature  ?  " 

"  Has  a  will  of  iron  1 " 

"And  so  have  I ! "  exclaimed  the  young  girl,  "  and  my 


CLARA    QUARRELS    WITH    HER    STEP-MOTHER.      101 

will  is  that  she  shall  not  force  you  into  a  life  you  do  not 
like  ;  but  I  wonder  at  it.  Upon  ray  word,  if  it  were  not  for 
one  thing,  I  should  like  to  change  places  with  you." 

Caroline  shook  her  head. 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  the  life  is  !" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  I  have  ;  and  it  must  be  charming.  No  dignity 
to  keep  up,  no  retinue  of  servants  to  pass  every  time  you 
come  and  go  ;  but  all  sorts  of  homage,  plenty  of  work,  while 
everything  you  have  brings  in  a  swift  recompense.  Talent, 
beauty,  grace  discounted  every  night.  Oh  !  it  must  be 
charming." 

"  I  thought  so  once,"  answered  Caroline,  with  a  heavy 
sigh. 

"  Well,  never  trouble  yourself  to  think  about  it  again.  If 
that  lovely  woman  has  an  iron  will,  you  must  get  up  one  of 
steel ;  but  here  comes  Margaret.  I  suppose  Mr.  Gloss  is 
getting  tired  of  staying  out  there  in  the  dark.  Besides, 
Lady  Hope  will  be  frightened.  Adieu,  my  friend;  I  will 
manage  to  see  you  again." 


CHAPTER  XL 

LADY    CLARA    QUARRELS    WITH    HER    STEPMOTHER. 

LADY  HOPE  had  fainted,  but  with  such  deathly  stillness 
that  neither  Hepvvorth  Closs  nor  Clara  had  been  aware  of 
it.  She  remained,  after  they  left  the  box,  drooping  side- 
ways from  her  cushioned  seat,  with  the  cold  pallor  of  her 
face  hid  in  the  crimson  shadows,  and  kept  from  falling  by 
the  sides  of  the  box,  against  which  she  leaned  heavily. 

No  one  observed  this,  for  the  whole  audience  was  in- 
tensely occupied  by  what  was  passing  on  the  stage ;  and  the 


102  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

pang  of  self-consciousness  returned  to  Kachael  Gloss  in  the 
utter  solitude  of  a  great  crowd.  She  opened  her  eyes 
wearily,  as  if  the  effort  were  a  pain.  Then  a  wild  light 
broke  through  their  darkness.  She  cast  a  quick  glance 
upon  the  stage  and  over  the  crowd.  Then  turning  to  look 
for  her  companions,  she  found  that  they  were  gone.  A 
sense  of  relief  came  to  the  woman  from  a  certainty  that  she 
was  alone.  She  leaned  back  against  the  side  of  the  box  in 
utter  depression.  Her  lips  moved,  her  hands  were  tightly 
clasped — she  seemed  in  absolute  terror. 

What  had  Kachael  Gloss  heard  or  seen  to  agitate  her 
thus  ?  That  no  one  could  tell.  The  cause  of  those  faint 
shudders  that  shook  her  from  time  to  time  was  known  only 
to  herself  and  her  God. 

When  Hepworth  and  Lady  Clara  came  back,  Lady  Hope 
rose,  and  gathering  her  ermine  cloak  close  to  her  throat, 
said  that  she  was  tired  of  the  confusion,  and  would  go  home, 
unless  they  very  much  wished  to  stay  and  see  Olympia. 

They  consented  te  go  at  once.  The  pallor  of  that  beauti- 
ful face,  as  it  turned  so  imploringly  upon  them,  was  appeal 
enough. 

On  their  way  home  Lady  Clara  told  her  stepmother  of 
her  visit  behind  the  scenes. 

Kachael  listened,  and  neither  rebuked  her  for  going  nor 
asked  questions ;  but  when  Clara  broke  forth,  in  her  impetu- 
ous way,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  mamma  Kachael,  you  will  help 
us  !  You  will  get  this  poor  girl  out  of  her  mother's  power  ! 
You  will  let  me  ask  her  down  to  Oakhurst ! "  Kachael 
almost  sprang  to  her  feet  in  the  force  of  her  sudden  passion. 

"  What !  I — I,  Lady  Hope  of  Oakhust,  invite  that  girl 
to  be  your  companion,  my  guest !  Clara,  are  you  mad  ?  or 
ami?" 

The  girl  was  struck  dumb  with  amazement.  Never  in 
her  existence  had  she  been  so  addressed  before — for,  wilh 


CLARA    QUARRELS    WITH    HER    STEP-MOTHER.      103 

her,  Rachael  had  been  always  kind  and  delicately  tender. 
Why  had  she  broken  forth  now,  when  she  asked  the  first 
serious  favor  of  her  life  ? 

"Mamma!  mamma  Rachael!"  she  cried.  "What  is 
the  matter  ?  What  have  I  done  that  you  are  so  cross  with 
me?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Rachael,  sighing  heavily,  "only  you 
ask  an  unreasonable  thing,  and  one  your  father  would  never 
forgive  me  for  granting." 

"  But  she  is  so  lovely  !  papa  would  like  her,  I  know.  She 
is  so  unhappy,  too !  I  could  feel  her  shudder  when  the 
stage  was  mentioned.  Oh,  mamma  Rachael,  we  might  save 
her  from  that ! " 

"  I  cannot !     Do  not  ask  me  ;  I  cannot ! " 

"  But  I  promised  that  you  would  be  her  friend." 

"  Make  no  promises  for  me,  Clara,  for  I  will  redeem  none. 
Drive  this  girl  from  your  thoughts.  To-morrow  morning 
we  go  back  to  Oakhurst." 

"  To-morrow  morning !  And  I  promised  to  see  her 
again." 

"  It  is  impossible.  Let  this  subject  drop.  In  my  wish 
to  give  3^ou  pleasure,  I  have  risked  the  anger  of  Lord  Hope. 
He  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  permitted  this  entangle- 
ment." 

Lady  Clara  turned  to  Hepworth  Closs. 

"Plead  for  me  —  plead  for  that  poor  girl!"  she  cried, 
with  the  unreasoning  persistence  of  a  child ;  but,  to  her 
astonishment,  Hepworth  answered  even  more  resolutely 
than  his  sister.  • 

"  I  cannot,  Clara.  There  should  be  nothing  in  common 
between  the  daughter  of  Olympia  and  Lord  Hope's  only 
child." 

"  Oh,  how  cruel !  What  is  the  use  of  having  rank  and 
power  if  one  is  not  to  use  it  for  the  good  of  others  ?  " 


104  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  We  will  not  argue  the  matter,  dear  child." 

"  But  I  will  argue  it,  and  if  I  cannot  convince,  I  will 
hate  you,  Hepworth  Gloss,  just  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  I  trust,"  answered  Hepworth, 
sadly.  "  To  own  the  truth,  Clara,  I  fear  your  mother  will 
have  enough  to  do  in  reconciling  Lord  Hope  to  the  position 
another  person  has  assumed  in  his  household.  Do  not  let 
us  add  new  difficulties  to  her  position." 

Clara  began  to  cry. 

"  I'm  sure  I  never  thought  of  troubling  her  or  offending 
my  father.  It  is  so  natural  for  them  to  be  good  and  kind, 
why  should  I  doubt  them  now,  when  the  grandest,  sweetest, 
most  beautiful  girl  in  the  whole  world  wants  help — just  the 
help  they  can  give,  too?  Well,  well,  when  papa  comes 
home,  I  will  lay  the  whole  case  before  him." 

"  Not  for  the  world ! "  cried  Rachael,  suddenly.  "  I  tell 
you,  cast  this  subject  from  your  mind.  I  will  not  have  my 
lord  annoyed  by  it.  For  once,  Clara,  I  must  and  will  be 
obeyed." 

Clara  sank  back  in  her  seat,  aghast  with  surprise. 

"  Oh,  mamma  Rachael,  you  are  getting  to  be  awfully 
cruel." 

"  Cruel  ?  No  !  In  this  I  am  acting  kindly.  It  is  you 
who  are  cruel  in  pressing  a  distasteful  and  impossible  thing 
upon  me." 

"  I  don't  understand  it ;  I  can't  believe  it.  You  are 
always  so  free,  so  generous,  to  those  who  need  help.  It  is 
just  because  this  poor  girl  is  my  friend.  Oh !  I  only  wish 
old  Lady  Carset  would  just  die,  and  leave  me  everything ! 
I  would  let  the  world  see  a  specimen  of  independence — I 
would !  Don't  speak  to  me,  don't  attempt  to  touch  my 
hand,  Mr.  Gloss  !  You  haven't  a  spark  of  human  nature  in 
you.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  leave  you  all,  and  go  on  the 
stage  myself." 


CLARA    QUARRELS    WITH    HER    STEP-MOTHER.      105 

Again  Lady  Hope  broke  into  a  storm  of  impatience  so 
unlike  her  usual  self-restraint,  that  Clara  was  really  terri- 
fied. 

"Hush,  girl!  Not  another  word  of  this.  I  will  not 
endure  it." 

This  severe  reprimand  took  away  Clara's  breath  for  an 
instant;  then  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  sobs  and  tears, 
huddling  herself  up  into  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  utterly 
refused  all  consolation  from  Hepworth,  who  was  generously 
disturbed  by  her  grief. 

Lady  Hope  did  nothing,  but  sat  in  silence,  lost  in 
thought,  or  perhaps  striving  to  subdue  the  tumult  of  feel- 
ings that  had  so  suddenly  broke  forth  from  her  usual  firm 
control. 

Thus  they  drove  home  in  distrust  and  excitement.  A 
few  low  murmurs  from  Hepworth,  bursts  of  grief  from  Lady 
Clara,  and  dead  silence  on  the  part  of  Rachael  Closs, 
attended  the  first  disagreement  that  had  ever  set  the  step- 
mother and  daughter  in  opposition. 

When  they  reached  home,  Clara,  her  face  all  bathed  in 
tears,  and  her  bosom  heaving  with  sobs,  ran  up  to  her  room, 
without  the  usual  kiss  or  "  Good-night." 

She  was  bitterly  offended,  and  expressed  the  feeling  in 
her  own  childish  fashion. 

Rachael  sat  down  in  the  hall,  and  watched  the  girl  as  she 
glided  up  the  broad  staircase,  perhaps  hoping  that  she 
would  look  back,  or,  it  may  be,  regretting  the  course  she 
had  taken,  for  her  face  was  unutterably  sad,  and  her  atti- 
tude one  of  great  despondency. 

At  last,  when  Clara  was  out  of  sight,  she  turned  a  wistful 
look  on  her  brother. 

"  She  will  hate  me  now." 

Her  voice  was  more  plaintive  than  the  words.  The  con- 
fidence of  that  young  girl  was  all  the  world  to  herj  for, 


106  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

independent  of  everything  else,  it  was  the  one  human  link 
that  bound  her  to  the  man  she  loved  with  such  passionate 
idolatry.  Her  kindness  to  his  child  was  the  silver  cord 
which  even  his  strong  will  could  not  sunder,  even  if  he 
should  wish  it. 

Hepworth  saw  her  anguish,  and  pitied  it. 
•  "  Let  her  go,"  he  said,  stooping  down  and  kissing  his 
sister  on  the  forehead,  which,  with  her  neck  and  arms,  was 
cold  as  marble.  "She  is  disappointed,  vexed,  and  really 
indignant  with  us  both ;  but  a  good  night's  sleep  will  set 
her  heart  right  again.  I  wish  we  had  never  chanced  to 
come  here." 

"  Oh,  Heavens  !  so  do  I." 

"Bachael,"  said  Hepworth,  "what  is  it  troubles  you  so?  " 

"What?  Is  it  not  enough  that  the  child  I  have  made  a 
part  of  my  own  life  should  quarrel  with  me  and  with  you, 
because  of  me,  for  a  stranger  ?  " 

"  No ;  because  her  own  generous  nature  assures  us  that 
the  evil  will  die  of  itself  before  morning.  This  is  not 
enough  to  account  for  the  fact  that  you  quiver  as  if  with 
cold,  and  the  very  touch  of  your  forehead  chills  me." 

"  Do  I  ?  "  questioned  Rachael.  "  I  did  not  know  it. 
My  cloak  has  fallen  off — that  is  all." 

"  Mamma  Eachael !  " 

They  both  started,  for  leaning  over  the  banisters  was  the 
sweet,  tearful  face  of  Lady  Clara. 

"  My  own  darling  !  "  cried  Rachael,  lifting  her  arms. 

Down  che  staircase  sprang  that  generous  young  creature, 
her  feet  scarcely  touching  the  polished  oak,  her  hair  all  un- 
bound and  rolling  in  waves  down  her  back.  Struck  with 
sweet  compunctions,  she  had  broken  from  the  hands  of  her 
maid,  and  left  her  with  the  blue  ribbon  fluttering  in  her 
hand,  while  she  ran  back  to  make  peace  with  the  woman 
who  was  almost  dearer  to  her  than  a  mother. 


THE     OLD     PRISONER.  107 

She  fell  upon  her  knees  by  Eachael,  and  shook  the  hair 
from  her  face,  which  was  glowing  with  sweet  penitence. 

"  Kiss  me,  mamma  Eachael,  not  on  this  saucy  mouth  of 
mine,  hut  here  upon  my  forehead.  I  cannot  sleep  till  you 
have  kissed  me  good  night." 

Kachael  laid  one  hand  on  that  bright  young  head,  but  it 
was  quivering  like  a  shot  bird.  She  bent  the  face  back  a 
little,  and  pored  over  the  features  with  yearning  scrutiny, 
as  if  she  longed  to  engrave  every  line  on  her  heart. 

Something  in  those  black  eyes  disturbed  the  girl  afresh. 
She  reached  up  her  arms,  and  cried  out : 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  mamma  Rachael,  but  kiss  me 
good  night,  and  ask  God  to  make  me  a  better  girl." 

Instead  of  kissing  her,  Eachael  Gloss  fell  upon  her  neck 
and  broke  into  a  passion  of  tears  such  as  Clara  had  never 
seen  her  shed  before. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE     OLD     PRISONER. 

IN  America  again.  Yes,  fate  has  swept  most  of  the 
characters  of  our  story  across  the  ocean  ;  but  one  remains 
behind  to  whom  the  kind  heart  must  turn  with  more  solemn 
interest  than  the  young,  the  beautiful,  or  the  lordly  can 
inspire. 

No  changes  had  fallen  upon  that  bleak,  gloomy  prison, 
whose  very  shadow,  as  it  lay  across  the  dusty  road, 
streamed  out  like  a  pall.  Human  crime  brings  human 
misery,  and  that,  crowded  together  and  stifled  under  the 
heel  of  the  law,  is  a  terrible,  most  terrible  thing. 

In  the  midst  of  this"  desolation,  that  old  woman  had  lived 


108  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

and  suffered  fourteen  years,  without  a  complaint,  without 
once  asking  for  the  freedom,  which  would  have  been  so 
sweet  to  her,  even  of  her  God.  She  had  sinned  deeply — 
how  far,  she  and  the  Almighty,  who  knows  all  things,  alone 
could  tell ;  but  she  had  borne  her  punishment  with  much 
humility  ;  in  her  quiet  way,  had  made  her  presence  in  that 
dreary  place  a  blessing  to  those  more  wretched  than  herself. 

During  that  long,  weary  time  many  a  poor  prisoner  had 
felt  the  comfort  of  her  presence  near  her  sick  couch  and  her 
grave.  Kind  looks  had  cheered  other  desponding  souls 
when  words  of  compassion  were  forbidden  to  her  lips. 

One  day  this  woman  sat  at  her  task  sewing  on  some 
heavy  prison  garments.  A  skein  of  coarse  thread  hung 
about  her  neck,  and  a  steel  thimble  was  upon  her  long, 
slender  finger,  where  it  had  worn  a  ring  about  the  nail  with 
incessant  use. 

She  did  not  look  up  when  -the  matron  entered  the  room, 
but  worked  on,  with  steady  purpose,  not  caring  to  see  that 
strange  gentleman  who  came  in  with  the  matron,  and  stood 
looking  kindly  upon  her. 

"  Mrs.  Yates." 

The  old  woman  lifted  her  head  with  a  suddenness  that 
almost  shook  the  iron  spectacles  from  her  face.  Her  eyes 
encountered  those  of  the  gentleman,  and  she  stood  up 
meekly,  like  a  school-girl  aroused  from  her  task,  and 
remained,  with  her  eyes  bent  on  the  floor,  waiting  for  the 
man  to  pass  on.  He  did  not  move,  however,  but  stood 
gazing  upon  her  snow-white  hair,  her  thin  dd  face,  and  the 
gentle  stoop  that  had,  at  last,  bent  her  shoulders  a  little, 
with  infinite  compassion  in  his  face. 

"  Mrs.  Yates,  why  do  you  stand  so  motionless  ?  How  is 
it  that  your  eyes  turn  so»steadily  to  the  floor?" 

The  old  woman  lifted  her  eyes  slowly  to  that  calm,  thin 
face.  She  did  not  know  it,  had  never  seen  it  before  in  her 


THE     OLD     PRISONED.  109 

life ;  but  it  was  so  seldom  any  one  spoke  to  her,  that  a  soft 
glow  of  comfort  stole  to  her  heart  as  she  looked,  and  two 
great  tears  rolled  from  under  her  spectacles.  Then  she  re- 
membered that  he  had  asked  something. 

"  In  prison,  here,  we  get  a  down  look,"  she  said,  with 
pathetic  simplicity. 

"  But  you  will  look  in  my  face  now." 

She  did  gaze  at  him  earnestly ;  but  shook  her  head  and 
dropped  her  eyes,  for  the  force  of  habit  was  still  upon  her. 

"  I  do  not  know  you,"  she  murmured. 

"  Did  you  then  expect  some  friend  ?  "  asked  the  gentle- 
man. 

"  I  have  no  friends,"  was  the  sad  reply. 

"  Does  no  one  come  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  Years  ago  my  son  used  to  come  and  his  wife,  too ;  but 
they  are  both  dead." 

"  Poor  woman  ! "  * 

She  looked  up  again  with  a  glance  of  earnest  surprise. 
She  was  so  unused  to  pity  that  the  compassionate  voice 
brought  a  dry  sob  to  her  throat. 

"Are  you  content  here  ?     Tell  me." 

"  Yes,  I  am  content." 

Her  voice  was  low,  but  inexpressibly  mournful. 

"  I  know  the  crime  for  which  you  were  committed,"  said 
the  gentleman,  "  and  have  read  the  case  over.  Tell  me, 
were  you  guilty  ?  " 

The  old  woman  lifted  her  eyes  slowly,  and  replied  : 

"  Yes,  I  was  a  guilty  woman." 

"  But  were  you,  before  God,  guilty  of  murder  ?  " 

She  met  his  eyes  steadily.  He  saw  a  quiver  of  pain  sweep 
over  her  features,  and  the  thin  lips  began  to  stir. 

"  He  is  dead,  my  innocent,  my  hdbest  son.  Nothing  can 
harm  him  now.  I  have  not  suffered  in  vain.  Before  God  I 
was  not  guilty-  of  murder,  but  terribly  guilty  in  taking  this 


110  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

crime  on  myself:  but  it  was  to  save  him,  and  I  cannot 
repent,  I  cannot  repent,  and  in  that  lies  double  guilt !" 

The  stranger  searched  her  features  keenly  as  she  spoke. 
Perhaps  he  was  prepared  for  this  answer;  but  the  light  that 
came  over  his  face  was  full  of  compassion. 

"  Have  you  done  with  me  ?  "  questioned  the  old  woman, 
in  the  meek,  sad  voice  that  had  become  habitual  to  her. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  not  believe  me  ;  but  God  knows  ! " 

The  man  turned  from  her  and  stepped  into  the  matron's 
room. 

The  old  woman  sat  down  upon  the  bench  from  which  she 
had  arisen,  took  the  coarse  needle  from  the  bosom  of  her 
dress,  where  she  had  fastened  it  when  spoken  to,  and  thread- 
ed it  again ;  but  her  hand  shook  a  little,  and  the  thread 
baffled  her  confused  vison.  Then  the  strange  gentleman 
came  back  again,  smiling,  and  with  moisture  in  his  eyes. 

"  My  good  woman,"  he  said,  "  put  up  your  work.  You 
did  not  know  it,  but  I  am  the  Governor  of  New  York,  and 
your  pardon  has  just  gone  to  the  warden." 

The  needle  dropped  from  one  quivering  old  hand — a 
thread  fell  from  its  companion. 

"  Pardon  for  me  ! " 

Her  lips  were  white,  and  the  words  trembled  from  them 
one  by'Sone.  She  did  not  comprehend  that  this  man  had 
given  her  back  to  the  world. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  the  matron,  weeping  the  glad,  sweet 
tears  of  a  benevolent  heart,  "  His  Excellency  has  pardoned 
you.  This  very  hour  you  are  free  to  leave  the  prison." 

"  God  help  me !  Oh  !  God  help  me  ! "  cried  the  poor  old 
woman,  looking  around  at  her  rude  work  and  seating  herself 
among  it.  "  Where  can  I  go  ?  " 

The  Governor  took  some  money  from  his  pocket  and  laid 
it  in  her  lap.  Then  he  went  hastily  from  the  room. 


THE     OLD     PRISONER.  Ill 

The  matron  sat  down  upon  the  bench,  and  clasped  the 
withered  hand  in  hers. 

"  Have  you  no  friend  ?  " 

"None." 

"  No  duties  left  undone?  " 

The  old  woman  drew  herself  up.  Duties  last  longer  than 
friends.  Yes,  she  had  duties,  and  God  had  taken  the  shack- 
les from  her  limbs  that  she  might  perform  them.  Freedom 
was  before  her  and  an  object.  She  arose  gently  and  looked 
around  a  little  wildly. 

"  I  will  go  now." 

The  matron  went  out  and  returned  with  a  bundle  of 
clothes  and  a  black  bonnet  upon  which  was  some  rusty 
crape  ;  a  huge,  old-fashioned  thing  that  framed  in  her  silver- 
white  hair  like  a  pent-house.  The  very  shape  and  fashion 
of  this  bonnet  was  pathetic — it  spoke  of  so  long  ago.  The 
black  dress  and  soft  shawl  with  which  she  had  come  to  the 
prison  were  a  little  moth-eaten,  but  not  much,  for  they  had 
been  carefully  hoarded ;  but  the  poor  old  woman  looked  with 
a  sigh  on  her  prison-dress  as  it  fell  to  the  floor,  and  wept  bit- 
terly before  she  went  out,  as  if  that  gloomy  mass  of  stones 
had  been  a  pleasant  home  to  her. 

Slowly,  and  with  a  downcast  look,  the  old  woman  went 
out  of  the  prison,  up  through  the  rugged  quarries,*where  a 
gang  of  men  were  at  work,  dragging  their  weary  limbs  from 
stone  to  stone,  with  the  listless,  haggard  effort  of  forced 
labor.  Some  of  these  men  looked  up,  as  she  passed  them, 
and  watched  her  with  bitter  envy. 

"There  goes  a  pardon,"  they  said  to  each  other;  "and 
that  old  woman  with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  while  we  are 
young  and  strong!  Freedom  would  be  everything  to  us; 
but  what  good  will  it  do  to  her?" 

So  the  poor  old  prisoner  passed  on,  sadly  bewildered  and 


112  THE    OLD     COUNTESS. 

afraid,  like  a  homeless  child,  but  thanking  God  for  a  mercy 
she  could  not  yet  realize. 

There  was  one  place  to  which  she  must  go.  It  might  be 
empty  and  desolate,  but  there  her  son  had  died,  and  she 
had  seen  the  roof  of  his  dwelling  from  the  graveyard  when 
they  let  her  come  out  from  prison  to  see  him  buried. 

She  knew  the  road,  for  her  path  led  to  the  grave  first,  and 
after  that  she  could  find  the  way,  for  every  step,  so  far,  had 
been  marked  by  a  pang,  to  which  her  heart  was  answering 
back  now. 

At  sunset,  that  day,  some  workmen,  passing  the  village 
burying-place,  saw  an  old  woman  sitting  by  a  grave  that 
had  been  almost  forgotten  in  the  neighborhood. 

She  was  looking  dreary  and  forlorn  in  the  damp  enclosure, 
for  clouds  were  drifting  low  in  the  sky,  and  a  cold  rain  was 
beginning  to  fall ;  but  they  did  not  know  that  this  poor  wo- 
man had  a  home-feeling  by  that  grave,  even  with  the  rain 
falling,  which  Belonged  to  no  other  place  on  earth. 

A  little  later,  when  the  gray  darkness  was  creeping  on, 
this  same  tall  figure  might  have  been  discovered  moving 
through  the  rough  cedar  pillars  of  the  Ylftes  cottage.  There 
was  no  light  in  the  house,  for  no  human  soul  lived  beneath 
its  roof;  but  a  door  was  so  lightly  fastened  that  she  got  it 
open  with  some  effort,  and  entered  what  seemed  to  her  like 
the  kitchen;  for  the  last  tenant  had  left  some  kindling-wood 
in  the  fireplace,  and  two  or  three  worn-out  cooking  utensils 
stood  near  the  hearth,  where  they  were  beginning  to  rust. 

When  she  left  the  prison,  the  matron  had,  with  many 
kind  words,  thrust  a  parcel  into  the  old  woman's  hand. 
Knowing  her  helplessness,  she  had  provided  food  for  a  meal 
or  two,  and  to  this  had  added  some  matches  and  candles. 

In  the  gray  light  which  came  through  one  of  the  windows, 
she  untied  this  parcel  and  found  the  candles.  It  seemed  to 
the  forlorn  creature  as  if  a  merciful  God  had  sent  them 


THE     OLD     PRISONER.  113 

directly  to  her,  and  she  fell  upon  her  knees,  thanking  Him. 
The  light  which  she  struck  gave  lier  the  first  gleam  of  hope 
that  her  freedom  had  yet  brought.  She  was  at  liberty  to 
build  a  fire  on  that  dark  hearth,  and  to  sit  there  just  as  long 
as  she  pleased,  enjo3'ing  its  warmth.  The  rain  that  began 
to  rattle  down  on  the  low  roof  made  her  shelter  more  pleas- 
ant. She  began  to  realize  that  even  in  such  desolation 
liberty  was  sweet. 

She  built  a  fire  with  the  dry  wood,  and  its  blaze  soon  filled 
the  kitchen  with  a  golden  glow.  Her  garments  were  wet, 
and  a  soft  steam  arose  from  them  as  she  sat,  enveloping  her 
in  a  gray  cloud.  The  loneliness  might  have  been  terrible  to 
another  person,  but  she  had  been  so  long  accustomed  to  the 
darkness  and  gloom  of  a  prison  cell,  that  this  illuminated 
space  seemed  broad  as  the  universe  to  her. 

After  her  clothes  were  dry,  the  old  woman  lighted  her 
candle  and  began  to  examine  the  house.  The  parlor  was 
almost  empty,  and  a  gust  of  wind  took  her  candle  as  she 
opened  the  door,  flaring  back  the  flame  into  her  face.  The 
wind  came  from  a  broken  pane  of  glass  in  the  oriel  window, 
through  which  a  branch  of  ivy,  and  the  long  tendril  of  a 
Virginia  creeper  had  penetrated,  and  woven  themselves  in  a 
garland  along  the  wall.  A  wren  had  followed  the  creeping 
greenness  and  built  her  nest  in  the  cornice,  from  which  she 
flew  frightened,  when  a  light  entered  the  room. 

The  old  woman  went  out  disappointed.  The  thing  she 
sought  was  not  there ;  perhaps  it  had  been  utterly  des- 
troyed. The  man  who  had  promised  to  keep  it  sacred,  lay 
sleeping  up  yonder  in  the  graveyard.  How  could  she 
expect  strangers  to  take  up  his  trust?  But  if  the  object 
she  sought  could  not  be  found,  what  was  the  use  of  liberty 
to  her.  The  one  aim  of  her  life  would  be  extinguished. 
She  took  up  the  cand]e  and  mounted  a^flight  of  narrow 
stairs  which  led  to  the  chambers. 


114  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

They  were  all  empty  except  one  small  room,  where  she 
found  an  iron  bedstead,  on  which  some  old  quilts  and  refuse 
blankets  were  heaped.  Behind  this  bed,  pressed  into  a  cor- 
ner, was  an  old  chair,  covered  with  dust. 

When  she  saw  this,  the  light  shook  in  her  hand.  She 
sat  down  upon  the  bedstead,  and  reaching  the  candle  out, 
examined  the  old  chair,  through  its  veil  of  cobwebs.  It 
was  the  same.  How  well  she  remembered  that  night  when 
her  own  hands  had  put  on  that  green  cover. 

The  chair  was  broken.  One  of  its  castors  dropped  to  the 
floor  as  Mrs.  Yates  drew  it  from  the  corner,  and  the  carved 
wood-work  came  off  in  her  hand ;  the  cushion  was  stained 
and  torn  in  places,  but  this  dilapidation  she  knew  had  not 
reached  her  secret. 

She  took  the  chair  in  her  arms  and  carried  it  down  to 
the  kitchen.  Some  of  the  brass  nails  dropped  loose  on  the 
stairs,  but  she  took  no  heed  of  them.  All  she  wanted  was 
some  instrument  with  which  she  could  turn  the  ricketty 
thing  into  a  complete  wreck.  In  the  drawer  of  a  broken 
kitchen  table  she  found  an  old  knife,  with  the  blade  half 
ground  away.  This  she  whetted  to  an  edge  on  the  hearth, 
and  directly  the  little  brass  nails  flew  right  and  left,  a  mass 
of  twisted  fringe  lay  on  the  hearth,  when  the  old  womaa 
stood  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  holding  the  torn  rep  in  her  hand. 
It  dropped  in  a  heap  with  the  fringe,  then  the  inner  lining 
was  torn  away,  handsful  of  hair  were  pulled  out  from  among 
the  springs,  and  that  casket  with  a  package  of  papers  rustled 
and  shook  in  the  old  woman's  hands. 

Mrs.  Yates  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  many 
long  years  since  she  had  touched  heavy  work  like  that,  and 
it  shocked  her  whole  frame. 

The  dull  monotony  of  sewing  upon  prison  garments  had 
undermined  all  her  great  natural  strength.  She  sat  there 


THE     OLD     PRISONER.  115 

panting  for  breath,  and  white  to  the  lips.  The  excitement 
had  been  too  much  for  this  poor  prison  woman. 

She  sat  like  a  dazed  creature,  looking  down  into  the  cas- 
ket which  lay  open  in  her  lap,  with  ten  thousand  rainbow 
fires  leaping  out  of  it,  as  the  blaze  in  the  chimney  quivered 
and  danced  and  blazed  over  the  diamonds.  That  morning 
the  old  woman  had  crept  out  of  prison  in  her  moth-eaten 
garments,  and  a  little  charity  money  in  her  bosom.  Now  a 
fortune  blazed  up  from  her  lap. 

There  was  money,  too,  a  purse  heavy  with  sovereigns, 
dropped  there  from  the  gold  contained  in  that  malachite 
box,  from  which  all  her  awful  sorrows  had  sprung.  She 
gathered  up  these  things  in  the  skirt  of  her  dress  and  sat 
brooding  over  them  a  long  time,  while  the  fire  rose  and 
crackled,  and  shed  warm  floods  of  light  all  around  her,  and 
the  rain  poured  down  in  torrents.  She  was  completely 
worn  out  at  last,  and  thought  itself  became  a  burden ;  then 
her  head  fell  back  upon  the  ruined  cushions  of  the  chair, 
which  held  her  in  a  half-sitting  position,  as  the  heaviest 
sleep  that  ever  came  to  mortal  eyes  fell  upon  her. 

Still  the  rain  poured  down  continually  upon  the  roof  and 
overran  the  gutters  in  torrents.  Up  from  the  darkness  of 
a  hollow  near  by,  the  rush  and  roar  of  a.  stream,  swollen 
into  a  torrent,  came  through  the  beating  storm  like  a  heavy 
bass  voice  pouring  its  low  thunders  through  a  strain  of 
music.  The  great  elm  tree  at  the  end  of  the  house  tossed 
its  streaming  branches,  and  beat  them  upon  the  roof,  till  a 
host  of  warriors  seemed  breaking  their  way  through,  while 
the  old  vines  were  seized  by  the  wind  and  ripped  from  the 
sides  of  the  house,  as  the  storm  seizes  upon  the  cords  of  a 
vessel,  and  tears  them  up  into  a  net  work  of  tangled  floss. 

The  old  woman  who  had  left  her  stone  cell  in  the  prison 
for  the  first  time  in  fourteen  years,  heard  nothing  of  this, 
but  lay  half  upon  the' floor  half  on  the  broken  chair,  with 
7 


116  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

the  broad  blaze  of  the  fire  flashing  over  her  white  hair,  and 
kindling  up  the  diamonds  in  her  lap  to  a  bed  of  living 
coals.  She  was  perfectly  safe  with  those  treasures,  even  in 
that  lonely  house,  for  in  the  pouring  rain  no  human  being 
was  likely  to  go  about  from  bis  own  free  will.  But  one 
poor  fellow,  whose  child  was  desperately  sick,  did  pass  the 
house,  and  saw  the  blaze  of  a  fire  breaking  through  a  win- 
dow, where  the  shutters  were  flashing  to  and  fro  on  their 
hinges,  and  found  breath  to  say,  as  he  sped  on  in  search  of 
a  doctor : 

"  So  the  cedar  cottage  has  got  another  tenant  at  last.  I 
wonder  who  it  is  ?  " 

When  the  man  went  by  to  his  work,  the  next  morning, 
he  saw  the  shutters  swaying  to  and  fro  yet,  and  wondering 
at  it,  went  into  the  enclosure,  in  hopes  of  meeting  some  of 
the  new  inmates  ;  but  everything  was  still,  the  doors  were 
fastened,  and  through  the  kitchen  window  he  saw  nothing 
but  a  heap  of  ashes  on  the  hearth,  and  an  old  chair,  torn  to 
pieces,  standing  before  it. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

WHEN  the  old  countess  of  Carset  threw  out  her  flag  from 
the  battlements  of  Houghton  castle,  it  could  be  seen  from 
all  the  country  around,  for  the  grim  old  pile  was  built  upon 
the  uplands,  and  the  gray  towers  rose  up  from  the  groves 
of  the  park  like  the  peaks  of  a  mountain. 

For  many  a  long  year  that  broad  flag  had  streamed  like 
a  meteor  over  "the  intense  greenness  of  oaks  and  chestnuts  ; 
for,  when  the  head  of  the  house  was  at  home,  the  crimson 


THE     OLD     COUNTESS.  117 

pennant  was  always  to  be  seen  floating  against  the  sky, 
and  over  that  sea  of  billowy  foliage.  The  old  lady  of 
Houghton  had  not  been  absent  from  the  castle  in  many 
years,  for  she  was  a  childless  woman,  and  so  aged,  that  a 
hotne  among  her  own  people  was  most  befitting  her  in- 
firmities and  her  pride. 

One  day,  as  the  sun  was  going  down  behind  those  mas- 
sive castle  towers,  filling  the  sky  so  richly  with  gold  and 
crimson,  that  the  red  flag  was  lost  among  its  fiery  billows, 
an  old  woman  stood  on  the  highway,  with  a  hand  uplifted 
to  shade  her  eyes,  as  she  searched  for  the  old  flag. 

There  was  dust  upon  her  leathern  shoes  and  on  the  black 
folds  of  her  alpaca  dress,  for  she  had  walked  from  the  rail- 
way station,  and  the  roads  were  dry. 

"Ah,  how  the  trees  have  grown  ! "  she  said,  mournfully, 
dropping  her  hand.  "  I  never,  never  thought  to  be  so  near 
Houghton  and  not  see  the  flag.  Is  my  lady  dead?" 

The  old  woman  was  so  distressed  by  the  thought,  that 
she  sat  down  on  a  bank  by  the  wayside,  and  over  her  came 
that  dry,  hard  foreboding,  which  forbids  tears  to  old  eyes, 
but  holds  the  worn  heart  like  a  vise.  Thus,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  dusty  road,  she  sat  till  all  those  bright 
clouds  melted  into  the  coming  night ;  then  she  looked  up 
and  saw  the  great  red  flag  streaming  out  against  a  sea  of 
purplish  gray,  as  it  had  done  when  she  was  a  girl,  seventy 
years  ago. 

"  My  lady  is  alive.  She  is  there.  Oh !  my  God  !  make 
me  thankful ! "  she  exclaimed,  standing  up  in  the  road. 
"  Through  all,  I  shall  see  her  again. " 

So  she  moved  on,  canning  a  leathern  travelling  bag,  worn 
and  rusty,  in  her  feeble  hand.  Along  the  highway,  up  to 
the  gates  of  that  noble  park,  she  travelled  with  the  slow,  toil- 
some step  of  old  age ;  but  when  she  came  to  the  gates  they 
were  closed,  and  her  voice  was  so  feeble  that  it  failed  to 


118  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

reach  the  lodge,  from  which  she  could  see  lights  gleaming 
through  the  twinkling  ivy  leaves. 

In  patient  disappointment  the  old  woman  turned  from 
the  gate,  and  walked  on  half  a  mile  farther,  for  she  knew 
of  a  small  public  house  where  a  night 's  lodging  could  be 
obtained.  She  reached  this  low  stone  building  after  dark, 
and  entered  it  quietly,  like  a  gray  ghost. 

It  was  a  strange  guest  to  enter  that  tap-room,  with  her 
dusty  garments  and  her  old  satchel.  The  villagers,  who 
were  taking  their  beer  comfortably,  lifted  their  eyes  in 
astonishment  at  her  sudden  appearance,  and  they  rounded 
with  wonder,  as  she  passed  through  the  room  and  entered 
the  kitchen  naturally,  as  if  she  had  belonged  to  the  prem- 
ises all  her  life. 

No  one  in  the  house  remembered  the  old  woman.  A  curly- 
headed  girl  named  Susan,  had  flitted  like  a  bird  about  that 
kitchen  the  last  time  she  had  entered  it,  and  now,  when  a 
man's  voice  called  out  '*  Susan ! "  she  started  and  looked 
around  in  a  dazed  way,  expecting  the  bright  eyed  girl  would 
come  dancing  through  the  door.  But  instead  appeared  an, 
elderly  woman,  with  quantities  of  coarse  black  hair,  smoothed 
under  her  cap.  A  linen  apron,  large  and  ample,  protected 
her  stuff  dress,  and  a  steel  chatelaine,  to  which  were  sus- 
pended scissors,  a  needle  case  and  tiny  money  box  rattled 
at  her  side. 

"Well,  what  is  to  do  now,  Stephen?"  said  the  landlady, 
brushing  some  crumbs  from  her  apron,  for  she  had  been  cut- 
ting bread. 

"  Not  much,  only  look  sharp.  Here  is  an  old  body  just 
come  off  the  tramp.  Ah,  there  she  sits.  See  to  her  while 
I  mind  the  bar,  for  she  seems  a  little  above  the  common, 
and  is  quiet." 

The  landlord  sank  his  voice  as  he  made  the  communica- 


THE     OLD     CO'UNTESS.  119 

tion,  and,  after  a  glance  at  the  old  woman,  went  back  to  his 
guests,  while  the  matron  addressed  Mrs.  Yates. 

"  Ye  will  be  wanting  something,  no  doubt.  Will  it  be 
tea  or  a  cup  of  ale  posset  ?  " 

The  old  heart  in  that  bosom  stirred  with  a  tender  recol- 
lection of  long  ago,  as  this  almost  forgotten  dish  was  men- 
tioned, a  dish  so  purely  English,  that  she  had  never  once 
heard  it  mentioned  in  her  American  life. 

"  I  will  thank  you  for  a  posset,"  she  said,  taking  off  her 
bonnet  and  smoothing  her  milk-white  hair  with  both  hands. 
"  It  is  long  since  I  have  tasted  one." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  landlady,  "there  is  more  refresh- 
ment in  a  cup  of  warm  posset,  than  in  quarts  of  tea  from 
China.  Wait  a  bit  and  you  shall  have  one  of  my  own 
making ;  the  maids  never  will  learn  how  to  curdle  the  milk 
properly,  but  I  am  a  rare  hand  at  it,  as  was  my  mother 
before  me." 

"  Aye,  a  good  housewife  was  your  mother,"  said  the  old 
woman,  as  tender  recollections  stirred  in  her  bosom,  "for 
now  I  see  that  it  is  little  Susan." 

"  Little  Susan,  and  you  know  of  her  ?  That  was  what 
they  used  to  call  me  when  I  was  a  lass,  so  high." 

"  But  now,  what  is  the  name  you  go  by  ?  " 

"  What  name  should  a  woman  go  by  but  that  of  her  own 
husband  ?  You  have  just  seen  the  master.  The  neighbors 
call  him  Stephen  Burke." 

"What,  the  son  of  James  Burke,  gamekeeper  at  the 
castle  ?  " 

"  Why,  did  you  know  him,  too  ?  " 

"  Aye,  that  did  I.  A  brave  young  fellow  he  was,  and 
every  one  at  the  castle  up  yonder — " 

The  old  woman  checked  herself.  She  had  not  intended 
to  make  herself  known,  but  old  recollections  had  thronged 


120  THE     (XLD     COUNTESS. 

upon  her  so  warmly,  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  keep 
silent. 

"  You  speak  of  the  castle  as  if  you  knew  about  it,"  said 
the  landlady,  eyeing  her  askance. 

"And  no  wonder,"  answered  the  old  woman;  "people 
have  told  me  about  it,  and  I  was  in  the  neighborhood  years 
ago,  when  you  were  a  slip  of  a  lass." 

It  was  strange,  but  this  old  woman,  since  her  entrance  to 
that  room,  had  fallen  back  upon  phrases  and  words  familiar 
to  her  lips  once,  but  which  had  not  made  any  part  of  her 
speech  for  years.  There  was  a  home  sound  in  them  that 
warmed  her  heart. 

"  Did  ye  ever  know  any  of  them  up  yonder  ?  "  asked  the 
landlady,  as  she  placed  a  broad  porringer  before  the  fire,  and 
poured  some  milk  into  it. 

"  Yes.     I  have  seen  the  countess,  but  it  was  long  ago." 

"  May-be  it  was  when  the  young  lady  was  at  home.  Oh  ! 
them  were  blithe  times,  when  young  Lord  Hope  came  a 
courting,  and  we  could  see  them  driving  like  turtle  doves 
through  the  park  and  down  the  village ;  or,  walking  along 
by  the  hedges  and  gathering  hyacinths  and  violets.  It  was 
a  sorry  time,  though,  when  he  took  her  away  for  good  and 
all." 

"  Is  the  young  lady  living  near  this  ?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Yates,  with  an  effort. 

"  Near  this,  my  good  woman !  Why,  she  has  been  dead 
these  many  years,  and  Lord  Hope  had  been  married  to  his 
second  wife  ten  years,  when  my  first  lass  was  born  ;  but  he 
lives  at  Oakhurst,  and  never  comes  here  now.  No  one,  in 
these  parts,  has  seen  his  second  lady,  for  the  countess  was 
sadly  put  out  with  the  marriage,  and  all  her  household  was 
forbidden  to  mention  Lord  Hope's  name  before  her.  She 
never  got  over  the  death  of  our  own  young  lady  in  foreign 
parts,  off  in  America  among  the  red  Indians,  who  tomahawk 


THE     OLD     PRISONER.  121 

people,  and  no  one  asks  why.  This  was  where  Lord  Hope 
took  his  wife  and  child.  Can  any  one  wonder  that  our  coun- 
tess could  not  forgive  him,  especially  when  he  came  back 
home  with  a  new  wife,and  stood  out  that  his  daughter  should 
never  come  to  Houghton,  till  our  old  lady  up  yonder  was 
ready  to  be  gracious  to  the  new  woman." 

"  So  the  child  was  never  at  the  castle  ?  "  inquired  the  old 
woman. 

"No  one  hereabouts  has  ever  seen  her,  though  we  are 
told  that  she  is  a  beautiful  young  lady,  sweet  and  pleasant, 
but  with  a  will  of  her  own.  The  old  countess  sent  for 
her  once,  for  she  must  be  heiress  of  Houghton,  you  know ; 
but  she  sent  back  word  that  nothing  could  entice  her  into  a 
house  where  her  stepmother  was  forbidden  to  come,  and  this 
so  offended  our  countess,  that  she  has  taken  no  notice  of 
her  since." 

While  she  was  talking,  the  landlady  poured  a  measure  of 
frothing  ale  into  the  porringer,  and  became  all  at  once  silent. 
The  delicate  art  of  curding  the  milk  into  whey  took  up  all 
her  attention.  Thus  the  old  lady  was  allowed  to  drop  into 
a  fit  of  thought,  from  which  she  was  aroused,  wjth  a  start, 
when  the  hostess  poured  the  warm  posset  into  a  china  bowl 
and  began  stirring  it  with  a  heavy  silver  spoon,  as  she  call- 
ed out : 

"  Come  to  the  table,  grandame,  and  sup  the  poeset  while  it 
is  hot.  You'll  not  get  its  fellow  till  I  turn  my  hand  to 
another  for  ye.  Come,  come ! " 

Mrs.  Yates  drew  her  chair  to  the  table,  and  took  up  the 
silver  spoon,  eagerly.  Poor  woman  !  She  had  travelled  all 
day  without  tasting  food,  and  the  posset  took  her  from  a 
very  painful  train  of  thought. 

The  hostess  sat  down  at  one  end  of  the  table,  smiling 
blandly  over  the  keen  appetite  of  her  guest.  With  her 
arms  folded  on  the  wfeite  cloth,  and  her  ruddy  face  bending 


122  THE    OLD     COUNTESS. 

forward,  she  went  on  with  her  talk.  But  this  time  she  turn- 
ed from  the  castle,  and  began  to  ask  questions,  for  the  pre- 
sence of  this  singular  old  woman  in  her  house  had  fully 
aroused  her  curiosity. 

But  the  traveller  was  on  her  guard  now,  and  escaped 
these  blunt  questions  with  quiet  adroitness.  When  they 
became  oppressive,  she  arose  from  the  table  and  asked  per- 
misson  to  seek  her  bed,  as  the  day's  travel  had  left  her  tired 
beyond  anything. 

The  hostess  took  a  candle  from  the  table  and  led  the  way 
up  stairs,  somewhat  baffled,  but  full  of  kindly  feeling. 
There  was  something  about  the  manner  and  speech  of  this 
old  woman  that  set  all  her  warm-hearted  interest  afloat. 
Who  was  she  ?  From  what  part  of  England  had  she  tra- 
velled with  that  rusty  little  bag  and  those  thick-soled  shoes  ? 
That  quiet  manner  and  gentle  voice  might  have  belonged  to 
any  lady  of  the  land. 

In  the  midst  of  these  conjectures  the  quiet  old  woman 
reached  out  her  hand  for  the  candle,  and  with  a  soft  "  good- 
night," closed  the  chamber-door. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    OLD    COUNTESS    AND   HER   SERVANT. 

THE  next  morning  Mrs.  Yates  was  early  at  the  park-gate. 
She  found  no  trouble  in  passing  through  now,  and  was  soon 
in  the  avenue,  making  slow  progress  toward  the  castle, 
under  the  shade  of  those  vast  oaks  and  .chestnuts.  The 
way  was  long,  and  the  avenue  swept  upward  with  what,  to 
the  old  woman,  was  a  toilsome  ascent.  The  bag,  which  she 


THE  COUNTESS  AND  HER  SERVANT.   123 

carried  in  her  hand,  was  of  some  weight,  too,  and  the  cramp- 
ed inaction  of  so  many  years  had  rendered  walking  a  slow 
and  painful  process. 

At  last  she  stood  in  full  view  of  that  grand  old  building — 
a  castle  of  the  olden  times — kept,  so  far  as  possible  to  ele- 
gance or  comfort,  in  its  ponderous  mediaeval  grandeur.  But 
Madam  Art  had  softened  all  its  ruder  features.  Plate-glass 
was  sunk  into  those  thick  walls ;  circular  rooms  in  those 
twin  towers,  commanded  a  splendid  view  of  the  valley,  over 
which  the  castle  was  built.  The  broad  stone  terrace  connect- 
ing the  towers,  and  fronting  the  main  building  was  connect- 
ed with  a  velvet  lawn  by  a  forest  of  hot-house  plants,  that 
clung  around  the  stone  parapet  in  a  sumptuous  garland  of 
vines  and  flowers,  that  shed  a  soft  and  delicious  fragrance 
over  everything  in  and  around  the  building. 

Across  this  lawn  and  over  the  stone  terrace  the  old  woman 
toiled  toward  the  main  entrance.  She  was  beginning  to 
tremble  now  with  something  beside  weariness.  Her  satchel 
bore  down  the  feeble  hand  that  carried  it,  till  it  dragged 
along  the  stones  with  a  low,  rasping  sound,  as  she  climbed 
the  terrace-steps.  She  lifted  the  ponderous  bronze  knocker, 
aud  let  it  fall  from  her  shaking  hand  with  a  crash  that 
startled  herself,  and  brought  a  man,  all  glittering  in  silver 
gray  and  scarlet,  to  the  door,  where  he  stood,  with  his  inso- 
lent lips  ajar,  waiting  to  know  what  miracle  had  brought 
that  forlorn  creature  to  the  grand  entrance  of  Houghton 
Castle. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  the  countess." 

That  sweet  old  voice  could  not  counteract  the  effect  of  her 
dress  and  worn  satchel.  The  parted  lips  of  the  man  in 
scarlet  fell  together,  and  drooped  scornfully  down  at  the 
corners. 

"  There  is  a  proper  entrance  for  servants  and  village-peo- 


124  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

pie,"  said  this  high  functionary,  with  his  powdered  head 
thrown  back. 

"  I  know,"  answered  the  woman,  quietly  ;  "  but  I  wish  to 
see  my  lady,  and  do  not  care  to  seek  her  from  the  ser- 
vants' hall.  Go  to  her  and  say  that  Hannah  Yates,  an  old 
servant  of  the  family,  is  below,  waiting  to  see  her." 

The  man  hesitated.  Then  the  old  woman  stepped  softly 
into  the  hall,  passing  him  so  suddenly  that  he  drew  back 
aghast. 

"  If  you  will  not  go,  I  must  find  the  way  for  myself,"  she 
said,  still  in  a  voice  so  gentle  that  he  could  take  little  offence 
at  it. 

Her  composure  rather  disturbed  the  man,  who  gave  his 
powdered  head  a  toss,  and  mounted  the  broad  oaken  staircase, 
with  an  indignant  swell  of  the  chest.  Through  a  long  pas- 
sage, carpeted  with  the  thickness  of  forest  turf,  he  went, 
giving  forth  no  sound  till  he  opened  a  door  in  one  of  the 
lower  chambers,  and,  sweeping  a  curtain  of  crimson  silk 
back  with  his  arm,  announced  the  name  that  old  woman  had 
given  him  at  the  door. 

Something  lying  under  the  rich  colors  of  a  great  India 
shawl  moved  quickly ;  the  shawl  dropped  to  the  floor,  and 
a  little  old  woman  sat  up  on  the  couch  where  she  had  been 
resting. 

"  Yates  —  Hannah  Yates?"  Did  you  say  Yates, 
Henry  ?  " 

"  That  was  the  name,  my  lady." 

"  An  old  woman  like  me  ?  " 

"  Old  enough,  my  lady  ;  but  Heaven  forbid  I  should  say 
like  your  ladyship.  I  could  not  force  myself  to  do  it." 

"  Bring  her  here,  Henry." 

The  door  closed,  and  the  old  countess  drew  herself  gra- 
dually upright. 

She  was  a  pale,  little  woman,  with  hair  as  soft  and  white 


THE    COUNTESS    AND    HER    SERVANT.      125 

as  the  delicate  lace  that  fell  like  a  spider's  web  over  it.  The 
child-like  hands,  which  lay  in  relief  among  the  folds  of  her 
black-satin  dress,  were  withered  in  their  whiteness,  like  the 
leaves  of  a  frost-bitten  lily.  They  were  quivering,  too  ;  and 
now  that  she  was  alone,  you  might  have  seen  that  delicate 
head  begin  to  vibrate  with  a  slow,  perpetual  motion,  which 
had  been  stopped  a  moment  by  the  surprise  which  had  fall- 
en upon  her.  She  sat  with  her  eyes  on  the  curtain,  which 
shut  the  door  from  view.  The  trembling  of  her  head 
extended  to  her  whole  body,  and  her  small  feet  pattered 
freely  on  the  carpet,  like  those  of  a  child  in  the  impotence  of 
sickness. 

As  she  looked  the  red  curtain  was  lifted,  and  into  the 
luxurious  splendor  of  that  room  came  a  tall,  old  woman,  who 
was  trembling  like  herself,  and  stood  in  her  presence,  ap- 
parently afraid  to  look  up. 

The  old  countess  arose  from  her  couch,  trampling  the 
India  shawl  under  her  feet,  and  moved  with  feeble  slowness 
toward  her  strange  visitor. 

"  Hannah  Yates  !  " 

At  these  words  the  down  prison-look  that  had  fallen  upon 
Hannah  was  lifted  from  her,  and  those  large  gray  eyes  were 
bent  on  the  little  patrician  with  a  look  of  intense  mournful- 
ness. 

"  My  mistress  ! " 

fl  Hannah  Yates,  I  never  expected  to  see  you  again  on 
this  earth,  and  now  you  come  before  me  like  a  ghost." 

"  Ah,  my  mistress,"  answered  the  old  servant,  with 
pathetic  humility.  "  I  am  a  ghost  of  the  woman  who  once 
loved  and  served  you." 

"  And  I  ?  Look  upon  me,  Yates.  How  have  God  and 
time  dealt  with  your  mistress  ?  Has  my  head  been  respect- 
ed more  than  yours  ?  " 

They  stood  for  a  moment  looking  solemnly  at  each  other 


126  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

— that  tall,  stately  woman,  born  a  peasant,  and  the  delicate, 
proud,  sensitive  peeress,  whose  blue  blood  rolled  through  a 
series  of  dead  greatness  back  to  the  Conqueror.  The  con- 
trast was  touching.  Both  had  begun  to  stoop  at  the  shoul- 
ders, both  had  suffered,  and  they  were  as  far  apart  in  station 
as  social  power  could  place  them ;  but  a  host  of  memories 
linked  them  together,  and  the  common  sympathies  of  hu- 
manity thrilled  in  the  hearts  of  both  with  such  pain  and 
pleasure  that,  unconsciously,  the  little  withered  hand  of  the 
countess  clasped  that  of  her  old  servant. 

"  Come  in,  Yates,  and  sit  down.  You  are  trembling,  poor 
old  soul !  The  world  must  have  gone  hard  with  you  when 
the  touch  of  my  hand  makes  you  shiver  so.  Sit  down.  We 
are  both  old  women  now,  and  may  rest  ourselves  together." 

So  the  woman,  whose  last  home  had  been  a  convict's  cell, 
and  the  lady  whose  head  had  always  been  sheltered  beneath 
the  roofs  of  a  palace,  sat  down  and  looked,  with  sad  timidity, 
at  each  other.  Still  the  feeling  of  caste  was  strong  in  the 
servant.  She  had  drawn  an  ottoman  up  to  the  couch,  and 
placed  herself  on  that ;  but  not  until  she  had  taken  the  shawl 
from  the  carpet,  and  placed  it  around  her  mistress,  did  she 
thus  sit  down,  as  it  were,  at  her  feet. 

"  Where  did  you  you  come  from,  Hannah  Yates  ?  " 

"  From  America.     I  came  from  the  ship  three  days  ago." 

At  the  word  America  the  old  countess  shrank  back,  and 
held  out  her  hands,  as  if  to  avoid  a  blow.  After  a  little  she 
spoke  again,  but  it  was  now  with  a  voice  sharp  with  pain. 

"  Yates,  did  you  in  America  ever  know  anything  of  my 
child  ?  " 

The  anguish  in  that  voice  startled  Hannah  Yates,  and 
her  old  face  whitened.  How  much  did  the  mistress  know  ? 
If  little,  perfect  candor  might  kill  her.  She  had  not  come 
there  to  wound  an  old  woman  with  the  horrors  that  had 
darkened  her  life ;  so  she  answered,  cautiously  : 


THE    COUNTESS    AND    HER    SERVANT.      127 

"  Yes,  I  saw  Lady  Hope  more  than  once  after  she  came 
to  America." 

"  Thank  God  ! "  exclaimed  the  countess.  "  I  may  now 
learn  how  and  when  she  died." 

"  I  was  not  with  her  when  she  died,"  answered  the  ser- 
vant, in  a  low  voice. 

"  But  you  saw  her  before  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her  often." 

"And  the  child?" 

"  Yes  ;  the  child  was  with  me  a  good  deal." 

"  Yates,  was  my  child  happy  in  that  strange  land?" 

"  How  can  I  answer  that,  my  lady  ?  " 

"  Did  you  see  Hope  there  ?  " 

"  Once,  only  once,  and  that  for  a  moment." 

"  And  you  can  tell  me  no  particulars.  You  have  no 
information  to  give  me  with  regard  to  the  woman  who  is 
Lord  Hope's  wife  ?  " 

"  Of  her  I  know  but  little.  Eemember,  my  lady,  I  am. 
but  a  servant." 

"  You  were  my  child's  nurse.  I  never  looked  on  you  as  a 
common  servant,  but  rather  as  a  faithful  friend.  So  did  my 
poor  child.  When  I  learned  she  was  in  the  same  country 
with  you  and  her  foster-brother,  my  heart  was  somewhat  at 
rest.  But  her  letters  were  so  studied,  so  unsatisfactory; 
yet  there  was  nothing  in  them  of  sadness  or  complaint. 
Only  this,  Yates,  she  never  mentioned  her  husband,  not  once ! 
I  should  hardly  have  known  that  he  was  with  her  but  for 
the  letter  in  which  he  told  me  that  I  was  a  childless  old 
woman." 

Mrs.  Yates  drew  a  long,  heavy  sigh.  She  understood  now 
that  the  secret  of  that  awful  tragedy  in  New  York  had  been 
kept  from  her  old  mistress,  and  resolved  that  it  never  should 
reach  her — never  while  her  will  could  keep  back  the  horrible 
truth. 


128  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"My  lady,"  she  said,  with  an  effort,  "there  is  one  thing 
which  our — which  my  young  mistress  bade  me  hring  to  you 
if — if  she  should  a0t  live  to  place  them  in  your  own  hands 
herself.  It  is  this  which  brought  me  across  the  ocean." 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Yates  took  up  the  leathern  satchel, 
which  lay  against  her  feet,  and  opened  its  rusty  clasp  with 
her  trembling  hands.  She  drew  forth  a  casket  from  the 
scant  garments  it  contained,  and,  still  kneeling  on  the  floor, 
opened  it.  A  blaze  of  diamonds  broke  up  from  the  box. 
The  old  countess  uttered  a  feeble  cry,  and  clasped  two  qui- 
vering hands  over  her  eyes. 

"She  was  troubled  about  bringing  them  out  of  England, 
and  sent  them  to  her  foster-mother  with  this  letter." 

"  Is  there  a  letter  ?     Yates,  give  it  to  me  !  " 

Mrs.  Yates  reached  forth  the  letter,  which  had  begun  to 
turn  yellow  with  age. 

The  countess  took  it,  and  attempted  to  open  her  glasses  ; 
but  those  little  hands  trembled  so  fearfully  that  she  could 
not  loosen  the  gold  which  clasped  them  in. 

"  Bead  it  for  me.    I  cannot !  I  cannot ! " 

Two  great  tears  trembled  out  of  the  pain  in  that  aged 
heart,  and  fell  upon  her  cheeks  like  frost  upon  the  white 
leaves  of  a  withered  rose. 

Hannah  Yates  read  the  letter — a  sweet,  touching  epistle, 
full  of  mournful  affection,  which  that  murdered  lady  had 
written  only  a  few  days  before  her  death,  when  some  pre- 
sentiment of  coming  evil  was  no  doubt  upon  her.  The  dia- 
monds were  her  mother's,  she  wrote,  and  had  only  crossed 
the  ocean  with  her  because  of  the  haste  with  which  the  voy- 
age to  America  had  been  arranged.  Fearing  for  their  safe- 
ty, she  was  about  to  intrust  them  to  her  foster-mother,  who 
had  promised  to  bring  them  back  to  England  with  her  own 
hands,  if  any  evil  should  fall  upon  her,  or  if  her  sojourn  in 
America  was  protracted. 


THE  COUNTESS  AND  HER  SERVANT.   129 

"  The  jewels  which  belong  to  the  Carset  estate,  and  the 
child,  which  will  inherit  them,  I  entrust  to  my  dear  foster- 
mother,  when  I  am  gone,  and  I  sometimes  think  that  we 
may  never  meet  again,  my  mother.  This  good  woman  will 
bring  the  diamonds,  which  I  will  not  have  endangered,  and 
will  tell  you  about  the  child,  dearer  to  me  than  my  own  life, 
nay,  than  my  own  soul !  Tell  Lord  Hope,  if  he  should  seek 
to  take  her,  that  it  was  the  dying  wish  of  his  wife  that  her 
child  should  pass  at  once  into  the  protection  of  her  own  most 
beloved  mother,  when  Hannah  Yates  brings  her  to  England. 
I  think  he  will  not  deny  this  to  a  woman  who  has  loved  him 
better,  oh  !  how  much  better !  than  herself — who  would  die, 
if  she  could,  rather  than  be  in  the  way  of  his  happiness. 
Give  him  this  letter.  I  think  he  will  not  deny  the  last 
request  I  may  ever  make  of  him.  I  will  not  say  farewell, 
my  mother,  because  the  gloom  that  is  upon  me  in  this 
strange  land  may  be  only  the  home-sickness  of  a  heart 
separated  from  those  it  loves.  But,  if  this  is  given  to  you 
by  my  foster-mother,  know  that  a  cloud  of  gloom  has  set- 
tled down  upon  me  forever." 

This  much  fell  upon  the  ears  of  the  countess  as  she  held 
her  breath  and  listened. 

When  Hannah  Yates  folded  the  letter,  she  felt  that  a 
gleam  of  angry  fire  broke  into  the  eyes  bent  upon  her. 

"  Yates,"  said  the  countess,  sharply,  "  read  the  date  of 
that  letter." 

The  old  servant  read  the  date. 

"  Fourteen  years  and  more  !  Why  was  that  letter  kept 
from  me  so  long  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  bring  it." 

"  I  know  you  were  not  young  even  then,  Yates ;  but  your 
son,  my  own  protege  !  Surely,  when  my  poor  child  gave 
you  this  charge,  she  gave  money  also  ?  Why  was  the  child 
kept  from  me  and  sent  to  that  man  ?  " 


130  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  Yes,  there  was  money ;  but  my  son  could  not  come. 
We  had  no  power  to  bring  her." 

"  Then  Hope  took  her  from  you  by  force  ?  "  questioned 
the  countess.  "  Where  is  your  son,  Yates  ?  He  was  wrong 
to  permit  it  1 " 

"  With  my  young  lady." 

"  Dead  !     Then  you,  also,  are  childless?" 

Hannah  Yates  remembered  how  the  news  of  her  bereave- 
ment had  reached  her  in  that  stone  cell  which  was  cold  as  a 
grave,  and  shuddered  while  the  lady  in  her  palace  question- 
ed her.  Then  the  old  prison-look  fell  upon  her,  and  she  sat 
motionless,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  floor,  saying  nothing. 
How  could  she  explain  to  that  proud  lady  the  bondage  in 
which  she  had  been  held  ?' 

11  Ah  !  if  you  had  come  earlier,"  said  the  countess,  "the 
child  of  my  child  might  have  been  here  !  That  man  would 
not  have  dared  to  keep  her !  She  would  not  have  been 
taught  to  return  my  advances  with  insolence  by  his  evil 
wife." 

"  I  could  not  come  before,"  repeated  the  old  woman, 
humbly. 

"  And  now  it  may  be  too  late." 

"  God  forbid  ! "  said  the  old  woman.  (t  No  !  no  !  He 
will  show  me  how  to  complete  my  task.  It  is  for  that  I 
have  been  kept  alive." 

"Yates,  you  are  brave  and  faithful.  I  was  wrong  to 
question  you  so.  Forgive  me,  old  servant." 

Mrs.  Yates  took  the  child-like  hand  held  out  to  her  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

"  I  have  tried,  dear  mistress." 

"  Go,  now,  old  friend,  and  let  me  have  time  to  think. 
Only  this  is  certain,  we  do  not  part  again." 

"  Mistress,  that  cannot  be.  I  have  yet  a  task  to  perform. 
It  may  be  many,  many  miles  to  travel.  When  that  is  done, 


THE  COUNTESS  AND  HER  SERVANT.   131 

I  will  come  back  and  spend  the  few  days  left  to  me  here. 
Oh,  it  seems  like  home — it  seems  like  Heaven  to  sit  within 
the  sound  of  your  voice  once  more  !  But  I  must  depart  at 
once." 

"  Where,  old  friend  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  yet ;  but  God  will  direct  me." 

"  As  I  trust  that  He  will  direct  me,"  answered  the  coun- 
tess, lifting  her  eyes  in  momentary  prayer.  "Yates,  you 
will  never  know  what  fearful  suspicions  have  haunted  me — 
how  hard  and  bitter  they  have  made  me.  Oh,  had  this  let- 
ter come  earlier ! " 

"  I  could  not !     I  could  not !  " 

"  I  know  that,  knowing  you." 

Hannah  Yates  lifted  her  grateful  eyes  for  a  moment,  and 
dropped  them  again. 

"  Now  that  I  am  free  from  the  weight  of  these,"  she  said, 
lifting  the  casket  in  her  hands,  "  the  toil  of  my  errand  will 
be  less." 

The  countess  looked  wistfully  into  the  box,  and  shook  her 
head. 

"  I  have  been  unjust.  I  have  accused  that  woman  falsely. 
Until  this  moment,  Yates,  I  have  not  hesitated  to  proclaim 
my  belief  that  the  woman  they  call  Lady  Hope  had  pos- 
sessed herself  of  these  diamonds  as  she  had  won  my  daugh- 
ter's husband.  This  is  a  wrong  which  wounds  me  to  the 
soul.  It  must  be  atoned  for." 

Hannah  Yates  moved  toward  the  door,  but  heavily,  and 
with  the  reluctance  of  a  woman  whose  strength  had  been 
overtasked.  The  old  countess  sat  gazing  upon  the  jewels. 
How  trivial  and  worthless  they  seemed  to  her  now  !  Yet 
the  retention  of  these  very  diamonds  had  been  a  great  cause 
of  offence  against  Lord  Hope's  second  wife.  How  unjust, 
how  cruel  she  had  been  in  this !  Was  it  possible  that,  in 
other  things,  she  had  "been  equally  mistaken  ?  She  took  up 
8 


132  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

her  daughter's  letter  and  read  it  over.  The  first  shock  of 
its  reception  had  passed  away,  and  nothing  but  the  quiver- 
ing of  the  head  remained  of  the  fearful  agitation  that  had 
shook  her  little  form  like  a  reed. 

Hannah  Yates  stood  near  the  curtain,  regarding  her  with 
a  look  of  yearning  sympathy.  How  much  she  had  suffered 
— how  terribly  she  had  struggled  to  save  that  delicate  crea- 
ture from  deeper  sorrow — no  human  being  but  herself  would 
ever  know ;  but  the  thought  filled  her  heart  with  infinite 
tenderness.  She  stepped  back  to  the  couch,  took  the  hand 
which  lay  in  the  lap  of  her  old  mistress,  and  kissed  it. 

The  old  lady  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  letter.  They  were 
full  of  tears — those  painful,  cold  tears  which  come  in  such 
scant  drops  to  the  aged. 

"Your  hands  are  cold;  you  look  tired.  Ring  for  some 
wine  and  biscuit.  That  poor,  white  face  is  a  reproach  to 
your  mistress,  Yates." 

"  Yes,  I  will  take  some  wine  and  bread  before  I  go — it 
will  make  me  strong ;  but  not  here  !  not  here  ! " 

Again  the  old  countess  turned  to  that  letter,  motioning 
with  her  hand  that  Yates  should  stay ;  but  the  old  woman 
did  not  see  that  gentle  motion  of  the  hand — her  eyes,  also, 
were  full  of  tears. 

When  the  Countess  of  Carset  had  thrice  perused  her 
daughter's  letter,  she  laid  it  down,  and  resting  her  hand 
tenderly  upon  it,  fell  into  thought. 

She  was  a  proud  but  just  woman,  on  whose  haughty  pow- 
er old  age  had  fallen  like  dew,  softening  all  that  was  imperi- 
ous, and  shading  down  strong  personal  pride  into  thought- 
ful mercy. 

But  for  some  injustice  that  she  had  to  repent  of,  this  sim- 
ple, aifectionate  letter,  coming  as  it  were  from  the  grave, 
would  have  aroused  nothing  but  tender  grief.  It  contained 
no  complaint  of  the  man  she  had  married — did  not  even. 


THE    EARL'S    RETURN.  133 

mention  the  governess,  who  now  filled  her  place ;  and  the 
possibility  that  she  had  terribly  wronged  these  two  persons 
dawned  steadily  upon  her. 

She  looked  up  at  last,  and  spoke  to  Hannah  Yates  ;  but 
there  was  no  answer.  The  old  woman  was  on  her  road  to 
the  railroad  station,  burdened  only  with  a  secret  she  dared 
Dot  reveal,  and  the  gold  which  had  been  saved  with  the 
diamonds. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  EARL'S  RETURN. 

DAYS  passed,  and  Caroline  heard  nothing  of  the  new 
friend  she  had  made ;  but  one  day  Eliza  brought  her  a  let- 
ter which  had  come,  inclosed  in  one  from  Margaret,  who 
had  left  town  with  her  mistress  so  suddenly  that  she  found 
no  time  to  say  farewell. 

This  was  the  letter  which  broke  down  so  many  hopes  for 
the  unhappy  girl : 

"  MY   DE;LR,    DEAR  FRIEND — 

"  For  that  you  always  will  be,  so  long  as  I  have  a  pulse 
in  my  heart  or  a  purpose  in  my  brain !  It  does  not  require 
an  eternity  for  two  young  girls  like  us  to  become  firm 
friends ;  but  it  will  take  more  than  that  to  destroy  the  faith 
and  love  we  feel  for  each  other.  I  know  that  you  will 
believe  every  word  that  I  say,  though  I  may  be  compelled 
to  seem  cruel  and  faithless.  I  cannot  come  to  see  you. 
They  tell  me  it  might  offend  my  father.  I  cannot  ask  you 
to  his  house,  because  it  is  his,  and  I  have  no  authority  in  it. 
But  the  time  will  come  when  I  shall  have  a  house  of  my 


134  THE    OLD     COUNTESS. 

own,  and  then  no  guest  shall  be  so  honored.  Why  do  I 
love  you  so  ?  Is  it  that  I  remember  something  ?  Or  has 
any  person  told  me  that  you  and  I  have  slept  in  each  oth- 
er's arms,  and  breathed  upon  the  same  pillow,  with  an  old 
woman  bending  over  us — a  noble-faced  old  woman,  with 
gray  hair,  and  a  queenly  way  of  carrying  the  head  ?  Have 
you  any  remembrance  of  a  woman  like  that?  Do  you 
remember  a  hot,  red  fire,  streams  of  water  gushing  over  it,  a 
ladder,  a  crowd,  and  great  pipes  coiling  like  a  tangle  of 
huge  snakes  along  a  street  full  of  people  ?  I  do — and  this 
no  one  has  ever  told  me. 

"I  want  to  ask  all  these  things  in  person.  You  are  from 
America.  I  was  there  once,  and  after  that  fire  I  remember 
the  ocean  and  a  great  black  ship,  which  sent  banners  of 
smoke  over  us  day  after  day. 

"  Then  Oakhurst.  I  was  not  four  years  old  then,  but  my 
life  began  in  America,  so  far  as  I  know  of  it. 

"  I  cannot  help  you  now ;  but  if  you  hate  the  stage  so 
much,  be  firm,  and  madame  cannot  force  you  upon  it.  Be- 
sides, I  am  determined  to  redeem  my  pledge ;  so,  if  it  can 
be  done  in  no  other  way,  I  will  just  have  an  early  time  set 
for  my  marriage  with  Mr.  Gloss,  and  then  you  shall  come  to 
us  if  any  one  attempts  to  oppress  you. 

"  Pray  do  not  suppose  that  any  one  here  dislikes  you. 
On  the  contrary,  Lady  Hope  admits  that  you  are  charming. 
The  trouble  is  that  here,  in  England,  there  is  so  much 
prejudice  against  the  stage.  I  cannot  advise  you,  having 
broken  down  so  miserably  in  my  promises ;  but  I  shall 
not  be  helpless  forever,  and  when  I  have  power  you  shall 
share  it. 

"If  she  insists,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,'' run 
away,  and  come  down  here — I  mean  into  the  neighborhood. 
I  have  plenty  of  pocket-money,  and  drive  my  ponies  just 
where  I  please.  Margaret  will  help  us. 


THE    EARL'S    RETURN.  135 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  forgive  me  that  I  cannot  do  all  I 
promised.  It  does  not  grieve  you  more  thau  it  humiliates 
me.  To  think  that  I  should  offer  so  much  and  perform 
nothing  !  But  it  is  not  my  fault,  nor  is  it  the  fault  of  any 
one  here. 

"  Believe  in  me,  trust  me,  and  love  me,  for  I  will  deserve 
it  all. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  CLARA." 

Lady  Clara  wrote  this  letter  .on  the  very  night  of  her 
return  to  Oakhurst.  That  much  she  insisted  on  doing. 
Less,  she  said,  would  be  cruel  treachery. 

Neither  Lady  Hope  nor  her  brother  were  disposed  to 
interfere,  and  so  the  little  missive  went,  carrying  both  hope 
and  pain  with  it. 

It  was  some  days  before  Hepworth  Closs  was  able  to 
make  his  entire  peace  with  the  young  lady.  She  could  not 
find  it  in  her  heart  to  oppose  her  stepmother,  whose  sad, 
heavy  eyes  touched  her  sympathy ;  but  it  was  pleasant  to 
tyrannize  over  a  man  so  much  older  than  herself,  whom  love 
had  made  her  slave. 

With  him  quarreling  was  delicious,  and  she  was  in  no 
haste  to  cut  her  enjoyment  short.  But  even  the  pleasure 
of  tormenting  one's  lover  has  its  reaction  ;  so  one  day,  as 
the  sun  went  down,  pouring  a  flood  of  crimson  into  the 
bosom  of  that  old  cedar  of  Lebanon,  Clara  relented  a  little, 
and  allowed  Hepworth  to  kiss  her  hand.  It  was  impossible 
to  hold  out  longer,  with  all  the  leaves  quivering  in  that 
soft  air,  and  the  little  birds  hiding  away  among  them, 
chirping  to  each  other,  and  setting  a  sweet  example  to  the 
lovers. 

Of  course  an  ardent  man,  very  much  in  love,  is  not 
likely  to  rest  content  with  the  touch  of  his  lady-love's 


136  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

hand  after  he  has  been  kept  in  quarantine  four  or  five 
days.  Hepworth  was  ardent,  and  desperately  in  love  ;  so 
he  took  advantage  of  her  soft  relenting,  and  drew  her 
close  to  his  side,  laid  her  head  agaiusi  his  heart,  and,  with 
his  cheek  touching  the  thick  waves  of  her  hair,  began 
to  talk  of  the  future,  when  they  would  be  all  in  all  to  each 
other. 

Clara  shut  her  eyes,  and  allowed  her  head  to  rest  so  close 
to  her  lover's  heart  that  it  rose  and  fell  with  its  strong 
beating.  She  loved  the  music  of  that  full,  warm  pulse,  and 
a  smile  parted  her  lips  as  she  listened. 

Thus  they  rested  awhile  in  silence,  she,  carried  into  a 
dreamy  elysium  by  the  swell  of  those  full  heart-beats  ;  he, 
calmed  by  the  stir  of  the  cedar-leaves,  looking  into  her  face, 
and  wondering,  in  the  humility  of  true  affection,  how  that 
bright  young  creature  had  ever  been  won  to  love  him.  He 
bent  his  head  down  softly,  and  kissed  the  blue  veins  on  her 
temple. 

"  Are  you  sure,  very,  very  sure,  that  you  love  me, 
Clara  ?  " 

She  reached  up  one  arm,  wound  it  about  his  neck,  laid 
her  cheek  against  his,  and  whispered  : 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Lady  Clara !     Mr.  Hepworth  Gloss !  " 

It  was  a  man's  voice,  stern  and  clear  as  the  clash  of  bells. 
Both  the  lover  and  the  girl  sprang  to  their  feet. 

"  Father ! " 

"Lord  Hope!" 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  stood  face  to  face.  They  had 
changed  since  their  last  parting ;  still  that  was  but  dimly 
seen  in  the  light  of  a  young  moon,  which  was  rising  over 
the  trees  as  the  rich  crimson  faded  away. 

Hepworth  saw  that  all  the  wild  passion  of  those  times 
had  died  out  of  that  face,  leaving  it  calm  and  hard ;  but 


THE   EARL'S   RETURN.  187 

other  change  was  concealed  by  the  silvery  quiver  of  light 
that  fell  upon  it  through  the  leaves. 

Hepworth  was  the  first  to  speak.  -•£• 

"  My  lord,  you  have  received  my  letter,  I  trust  ?  " 

"  Yes — and  came  at  once  to  answer  it." 

"  By  your  tone,  by  your  manner,  I  should  fear — " 

"While  this  young  lady  is  by,  we  will  not  speak  of  your 
fears,"  said  the  earl,  with  a  slow  motion  of  the  hand. 
"  Clara,  you  will  find  your — Lady  Hope.  She  will,  perhaps, 
be  glad  to  hear  that  I  have  returned." 

"  Not  while  you  meet  me  and — and  Hepworth  in  this 
fashion,  papa.  I  don't  like  it.  One  would  think  you  in- 
tended to  make  trouble." 

"  Foolish  child  !     Go  as  I  tell  you." 

"  Not  while  you  look  at  me  like  that.  Do  you  know,  papa, 
that  you  have  forgotten  to  kiss  me,  or  even  shake  hands ; 
and  that  is  a  thing  I  never  saw  you  guilty  of  before." 

Clara  drew  close  to  the  haughty  man,  and  turning  her 
mouth  into  a  half-open  apple-blossom,  held  it  up  to  be. 
kissed. 

The  earl  put  her  aside  gently,  but  with  firmness. 

"Go  to  Lady  Hope,  as  I  bade  you,"  he  said.  "This  is 
no  hour  for  trifling." 

Clara  stood  motionless.  All  the  color  had  left  her  face, 
even  to  the  lips. 

"  Papa,  are  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  In  earnest  ?     Yes." 

"And  you  mean  to  refuse  this  gentleman?" 

"  Undoubtedly  I  mean  to  refuse  that  gentleman." 

There  was  an  emphasis  of  fine  irony  laid  on  the  last 
word,  which  Hepworth  felt  with  a  sting  of  indignation; 
but  he  controlled  himself,  in  respect  to  Clara's  presence, 
and  stood  aloof,  pale  and  stern  as  the  man  before  him. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  "Clara ;  "  but,  before  I  leave  you,  let  me 


138  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

say  one  thing:  I  love  this  gentleman.  But  for  that,  he 
never  would  have  spoken  to  me  or  written  to  you.  It  was 
not  his  fault,  or  of  his  seeking.  He  had  not  been  here  a 
day  before  I  loved  him  without  knowing  it.  Now,  all  the 
world  may  know  it  for  aught  I  care,  for  I  never  will  marry 
any  other  man  ! " 

Lord  Hope  did  not  reply  to  her,  but  turned  to  Hepworth. 

"  You  have  done  honorable  work,  and  in  a  short  time ! " 
he  said.  "  I  was  not  aware  that  Lady  Hope  would  enter- 
tain her  relatives  in  my  absence,  and  with  this  result." 

Hepworth  did  not  answer  then,  but  turning  to  Lady 
Clara,' reached  out  his  hand. 

"  Let  me  lead  you  to  the  house,"  he  said.  "After  that  I 
can  meet  Lord  Hope  on  more  equal  terms." 

Clara  took  his  arm ;  but  her  father  interposed. 

"I  will  take  charge  of  the  lady,"  he  said,  with  haughty 
coldness,  drawing  her  arm  within  his,  and  leading  her  to 
tbe  terrace,  where  he  left  her  and  returned  to  the  cedar. 

"  Now,  sir,  let  us  conclude  this  matter  at  once.  You  ask 
the  hand  of  my  daughter  in  marriage.  I  refuse  it.  You 
are  here  under  my  roof  an  unexpected  and  unbidden  guest. 
Prom  this  hour  you  cease  to  be  welcome." 

"My  lord,  had  I  never  known  you  in  the  past,  never 
served  you  in  an  unlawful  desire,  you  would  not  have  dared 
to  address  me  in  this  fashion.  If  you  and  I  meet  to  bandy 
insults,  it  is  because  the  past  has  left  no  mutual  respect 
between  us;  but  I  have  this  advantage  over  you  ;  the  sins 
which  have  drawn  on  me  even  your  contempt  have  been 
long  since  repented  of,  while  yours,  compared  to  which 
mine  fade  into  innocence,  seem  but  to  have  'hardened  into 
pride." 

Lord  Hope  smiled. 

"  Of  what  crime  does  Mr.  Hepworth  Gloss  charge  me  ?  " 

"  I  make  no  special  charge,  Lord  Hope ;  but  there  is  an 


THE    EARL'S    RETURN.  139 

old  woman  in  America  suffering  the  penalty  of  a  crime 
which  she  never  committed  —  which  you  know  she  never 
committed." 

"The  law  decided  otherwise,  if  I  remember  rightly," 
answered  the  earl,  in  a  quiet,  calm  voice.  "  But  even  if  it 
did  not,  does  that  relate  to  the  question  in  hand  ?" 

"No,  no,  and  I  am  to  blame  in  mentioning  it — Heaven 
knows  I  wish  to  think  the  best !  1  admit,  my  lord,  your 
prejudices  against  me  would  have  been  just  when  we  knew 
each  other  so  well ;  but  I  was  very  young  then  and  can 
fairly  claim  to  have  worked  out  an  honorable  redemption" 
from  the  faults  of  my  3routh.  Believe  me,  I  have  won  more 
than  a  respectable  position  among  men  ;  have  wealth  from 
my  own  exertions  enough  to  satisfy  even  your  wishes. 
True,  I  have  not  the  rank  to  match  yours ;  but  there  was  a 
time  when  you  thought  it  no  disgrace  to  mate  with  my 
family." 

Lord  Hope  was  moved  out  of  his  proud  calm  now.  He 
lifted  his  hand  with  a  suddenness  that  was  threatening,  and 
cried  out : 

"  Peace,  sir  !     I  have  heard  enough  of  this  !" 

"  But  I  must  remind  you  again  that  Lady  Hope  is  my 
only  sister,  and  in  these  insults  you  degrade  her." 

"  Degrade  her,  when  she  is  my  wife ! " 

These  words  were  drawn  out  with  proud  emphasis  that 
stung  Hepworth  like  a  wasp. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  I  will  bear  much  from  you, 
because  I  once  loved  you,  but  more  from  the  fact  that  you 
are  my  sister's  husband  and  her  father;  but  I  warn  you 
not  even  by  a  tone  to  cast  reproach  or  slur  upon  your  wife. 
She  became  such  against  my  wishes  and  in  spite  of  my 
protest.  That  lady  has  all  the  elements  of  greatness 
within  herself." 

"What  right  had  you  to  Wish  or  protest?" 


140  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"The  self-same  right  that  you  have  to  drive  me  from 
your  daughter.  You  did  not  heed  my  wishes,  why  expect 
me  to  prove  more  delicate  ?  " 

"  Because  I  can  enforce  what  I  wish,  and  you  could  not." 

"  How  ?  " 

"By  asking  Mr.  Hepworth  Gloss  to  leave  Oakhurst  at 
once,  and  by  providing  against  all  chance  of  his  coming 
here  again." 

Gloss  turned  very  white,  and  his  hand  clenched  and 
unclenched  itself  with  passionate  force. 

"  My  lord,  this  is  a  cruel  insult,  which  I  have  not 
deserved ! " 

All  at  once  the  earl  turned,  with  some  show  of  feeling, 
and  looked  Hepworth  steadily  in  the  face. 

"  Hepworth  Gloss,  listen  to  me.  If  I  seem  cruel  and 
unmanly,  it  is  because  I  wish  to  be  kind.  The  hand 
which  sweeps  a  moth  from  its  circling  around  a  candle, 
must  seem  very  cruel  to  the  poor  insect.  I  tell  you,  fairly, 
Hepworth  Gloss,  it  is  not  so  much  pride  of  birth  or  per- 
sonal dislike  that  prompts  me  to  deny  my  daughter  to  you. 
But  she  is  heiress  in  entail  to  the  Carset  title  and  Hough- 
ton  Castle,  a  noble  title,  without  support,  unless  the  old 
countess  makes  her  heiress,  by  will,  of  her  personal  estates. 
By  marrying  your  sister,  1  mortally  offended  this  old  lady. 
Kachael  has  been,  from  first  to  last,  the  special  object  of 
her  dislike.  Lady  Clara  has  added  to  this  by  refusing  to 
visit  Houghton  unless  her  stepmother  is  received  there  also. 
This  quarrel  may  throw  one  of  the  richest  inheritances  in 
England  out  of  my  family,  and  all  from  my  unfortunate 
marriage." 

"Your  unfortunate  marriage!"  exclaimed  Gloss,  hotly.. 

"How  could  it  be  otherwise?"  answered  Lord 'Hope, 
sadly. 

There  was  something  in  Hope's  voice  that  touched  Hep- 


THE   EARL'S   RETURN.  141 

worth  Gloss  with  feelings  akin  to  those  he  had  felt  for  the 
proud  young  man  years  ago. 

"  This  was  the  language  I  used  to  my  sister  the  night 
before  she  became  your  wife,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  my  God!  if  she  had  but  listened — if  she  had  but 
listened ! " 

"Lord  Hope!  do  I  understand?  Has  your  marriage 
with  Rachael  Gloss  come  to  this? '' 

"  Hepworth,  we  will  not  discuss  this  subject.  It  is  one 
which  belongs  exclusively  to  Lady  Hope  and  myself." 

''  But  she  is  my  sister  ! " 

"  Between  a  husband  and  wife  no  relative  has  claims." 

"  Lord  Hope,  I  was  once  your  friend." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  it.  Unfortunately  for  us  both, 
you  were.  I  do  not  say  this  ungratefully.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  am  about  to  appeal  to  that  old  friendship  once 
more.  You  ask  for  my  daughter.  To  give  her  to  a  brother 
of  Rachael  Gloss  would  be  the  bitterest  insult  I  could  offer 
the  old  lady  at  Houghton.  It  would  close  our  last  hopes  of 
a  reconciliation.  The  estates,  in  doubt  now,  would  be 
eternally  lost.  I  cannot  afford  this.  Oakhurst  is  strictly 
entailed ;  I  am  heavily  in  debt,  so  heavily,  that  we  are 
compelled  to  practise  the  most  harassing  economy.  From 
me  Clara  will  inherit  nothing ;  from  her  grandmother 
worse  than  nothing  if  she  dies  offended  with  us.  I  am  told 
that  she  is  relenting  —  that  she  has  been  heard  to  speak 
kindly  of  Clara.  Can  you  ask  me  to  insult  her  over  again, 
knowing  all  the  wrong  I  have  done  her,  all  the  ruin  it 
would  bring  on  my  child  ?  " 

"What  can  I  do?"  exclaimed  Gloss,  who  felt  the  reason 
of  this  appeal.  "  How  can  I  act  generously  to  you — fairly 
to  her  ?  " 

"  Go  away.     She  is  joung,  volatile,  capricious,  but  gen- 


142  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

erous  as  the  day.  Be  open  with  her;  tell  her  why  you 
leave  Oakhurst  and  how  impossible  it  is  to  return." 

"  But  there  is  one  wild  hope  for  me — the  possibility  of 
gaining  this  old  lady's  consent." 

Lord  Hope  smiled  in  pity  of  the  forlorn  idea. 

"  You  may  as  well  ask  the  stars  of  heaven  to  fall." 

"  But  it  may  chance  that  I  can  plead  my  cause  with 
her." 

"  Then  your  best  argument  will  he  that  I  have  driven 
you  ignoniiniously  from  Oakhurst,"  said  Lord  Hope,  with 
fine  irony  in  his  smile.  "  She  will  forgive  much  to  any 
man  I  am  known  to  dislike." 

"  My  lord,  I  love  your  daughter  so  entirely,  that  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  give  up  all  hope.  Leave  me  this  one 
gleam,  or,  failing  in  that,  give  me  such  chances  as  time 
may  bring." 

Again  Lord  Hope  answered  with  that  keen  smile. 

"  I  withhold  nothing  from  you  but  my  consent." 

"  But,  if  Lady  Carset  gives  hers  ?  " 

"  Then  I  can  safely  promise  mine." 

Again  the  smile  came,  and  pierced  Hepworth  like  an 
arrow. 

"  Now  I  will  intrude  here  no  longer,"  he  said,  taking  his 
hat  from  the  ground  where  it  had  been  lying. 

"  It  is  better  so,  inhospitable  as  you  may  think  me  for 
saying  it.  Lady  Hope  will  be  grieved,  I  know." 

"  I  am  her  only  relative,"  said  Gloss,  with  deep  feeling. 

"I  know  it;  but  we  are  all  making  sacrifices.  I  am, 
certainly,  in  wishing  you  farewell." 

Hope  reached  out  his  hand.  It  was  clear  he  wished 
Gloss  to  go  without  further  leave-taking. .  Gloss  understood 
the  motion. 

"  I  will  not  pain  my  sister  with  a  farewell.  Explain  this 
as  you  please,  or  say  that  I  will  write — unless  that  is  pro- 


THE     WIFE     AND     THE     DAUGHTER.       143 

bibited.  As  for  tbe  young  lady,  I  sball  never  seek  her 
again  under  your  roof;  but  the  time  may  come  when  I 
sball  assert  the  right  which  every  man  has  to  choose  for 
himself,  and  win  the  lady  of  his  love,  if  he  can.  Mean- 
time, Lady  Clara  is  free  as  air.  Tell  her  so." 

With  these  words  Hepworth  Gloss  turned  resolutely  from 
the  house  in  which  he  had  tasted  pure  happiness  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  and  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   WIFE   AND    THE   DAUGHTER. 

LADY  HOPE  was  in  her  own  room  when  Clara  came  in, 
pale  and  breathless,  with  news  of  her  father's  return.  A 
cry  broke  from  the  woman,  so  thrilling  in  its  exquisite  joy, 
that  it  won  Clara  even  from  a  remembrance  of  the  harsh- 
ness with  which  her  lover  had  been  received.  In  the 
birth  of  her  own  love,  she  found  intense  sympathy  for  the 
intense  passion  that  seemed  to  consume  her  stepmother  like 
a  living  fire. 

"  Oh  !  mamma  Kachael,  do  you  love  him  so  much,  and  is 
this  love  nothing  but  a  torment?  "  she  said,  kneeling  down 
at  the  woman's  feet,  and  trying  to  draw  that  wild  face  down 
to  hers.  "  He  is  so  gruel,  so  cruel,  I  almost  hate  him." 

Lady  Hope  pushed  the  girl  from  her. 

"What?     Hate  him?" 

"  Then  why  don't  he  love  you  more  ?  " 

"He  does  love  me ;  how  dare  you  question  it?" 

The  words  were  harsh,  but  Rachael's  voice  faltered  in 
uttering  them,  and  the  gloom  of  a  hidden  doubt  broke  into 


144  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

those  great  black  eyes.     Clara  saw  the  look,  and  her  heart 
ached  with  sympathy. 

"  Then  why  does.he  stay  from  us  so  long  ?  " 

"Ah,  why  !  "  answered  Rachael,  and  the  two  plaintive 
words  wink  deep  into  that  young  heart. 

"  And  why  does  he  treat  Hepworth,  your  own  brother, 
so  cruelly  ?  " 

"  Has  he  done  that  ?      Oh,  no,  no! " 

"Yes,  mamma  Eachael.  We  both  love  him  so  much; 
but  he  is  very  hard  with  us  just  now.  I  thought  he  would 
love  Hepworth  for  your  sake." 

"Ah  !  I  thought  so  too.    It  was  my  last  dream." 

"And  my  first,"  said  Clara,  with  girlish  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"He  was  very  angry — they  were  both  angry.  I  think  he 
meant  to  insult  Hepworth  and  drive  him  away,  knowing 
how  proud  he  is,  and  he  will  do  it.  Oh,  mamma  Eachael, 
I  am  so  miserable ! " 

"  Miserable  ! "  cried  Rachael,  looking  gloomily  into  that 
fair  young  face.  "  Poor  child!  you  have  no  idea  what  mis- 
ery is.  God  forbid  that  you  ever  should  !" 

"  Is  not  this  misery  ?  Papa  against  me,  Hepworth  look- 
ing so  proud  and  stormy.  You.  Oh  !  mamma,  I  feel  for 
you  so  much.  Indeed,  you  look  more  unhappy  than  I  am ; 
but  it  is  hard." 

"  Hush,  dear !     That  is  your  father's  voice." 

"  Yes,  how  low  and  cutting.  I  cannot  stand  it.  He  is 
coming  this  way.  I  will  go  to  my  room." 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Lady  Clara  shrank  from 
meeting  her  father. 

"  Do  not  leave  me  yet,"  said  Rachael,  passing  swiftly 
toward  the  window.  "  They  are  together  still.  I  cannot 
see  their  faces,  but  they  both  stand  up  sternly  in  the  moon- 
light. What  can  they  be  saying  ?  " 

"  Something  harsh,  I  know.     Lord  Hope,  when  he  came 


THE     WIFE     AND     THE     DAUGHTER.      145 

up  so  still  and  stern,  did  not  seem  like  my  father.  His  face 
looked  like  marble.  He  would  not  kiss  me,  and — and  put 
me  aside,  when  I  offered,  as  if  I  had  done  something  ter- 
ribly wrong,  in  just  getting  naturally  in  love  with  the  most 
splendid  fellow  that  ever  lived.  I  should  think  he^inight 
remember  when  he  fell  so  desperately  in  love  with  you  him- 
self, and  have  some  mercy  on  a  poor  little  girl."  Here  Clara 
seemed  to  catch  a  restless  infection  from  Rachael,  and  join- 
ed her  in  a  quick,  unequal  walk  up  and  down  the  room, 
pausing  now  and  then  to  dash  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  or 
gaze  in  wonder  at  Lady  Hope's  face,  which  bore  an  expres- 
sion she  had  never  seen  in  all  its  gloominess  till  then. 

All  at  once  Eachael  paused  in  her  walk,  and  taking  Clara 
in  her  arms,  looked  at  her  with  such  earnest  tenderness, 
that  the  girl  hushed  her  sobs  to  listen. 

"  My  darling,  do  you  love  him  so  much  ?  " 
"  Better  than  ray  father  ;  better  than  you.     Oh  !  forgive 
me,  but  it  is  so — better  than  my  own  life.     I  think  it  is 
worship,  not  love,  dearest  mamma." 

"  Great  heavens  !  what  trouble  I  have  brought  upon  us 
all !  Oh  why,  why  did  he  come  here ! "  cried  Eachael, 
beginning  to  pace  the  floor  again,  clasping  her  hands  and 
tearing  them  apart,  as  if  angry  with  herself.  "  They  were 
such  friends  once,  and  loved  each  other  like  brothers.  How 
could  I  think  it  would  turn  out  like  this  ?  I  so  needed  him 
— this  one  brother ;  had  such  hope  in  his  influence,  but  it  is 
all  over." 

"  What  is  all  over  ?  You  will  not  permit  it  ?  You  will 
not  let  him  be  sent  away?" 

"How  can  I  help  it?  What  power  or  influence  is  left 
to  me  ?  "  answered  Rachael,  desperately. 

"  Oh,  mamma  Rachael,  will  you  fail  me  ?     You  ! " 
"Hush !  he  is  coming.  ^    I  hear  his  step  on  the  terrace." 
How  that  dusky  face  lighted  up.     That  woman  trembled 


146  THE    OLD     COUNTESS. 

all  over  under  the  sound  of  that  man's  tread.  He  was 
coming  to  her,  there  in  the  room,  in  which  they  had  once 
been  so  happy;  coming  to  her,  perhaps  in  anger.  That 
was  nothing.  Anger  itself  would  be  Heaven,  compared  to 
the  cold  politeness  that  had  sometimes  almost  frozen  her  to 
death.  She  turned  to  Clara. 

"  Go,  my  child.     I  will  see  your  father  alone." 

Clara  went  to  her  room.  Through  the  window  which 
looked  out  upon  the  lawn,  she  saw  Hepworth  Closs  come 
out  from  the  shadow  of  the  cedar,  and  walk  swiftly  toward 
the  avenue.  By  the  proud  lift  of  his  head,  and  those  quick 
steps,  that  seemed  to  spurn  the  earth  he  trod  upon,  she 
knew  that  he  had  parted  from  her  father  in  anger,  and 
threw  up  the  window. 

"  Hepworth  !  Hepworth  !  Stop !  Stop  !  and  tell  me 
where  you  are  going ! " 

He  did  not  hear  her,  the  storm  in  his  heart  was  too 
violent.  He  had  been  driven  forth  from  his  sister's  roof 
with  a  cool  politeness  that  was  insulting.  The  commonest 
courtesies  of  life  had  been  denied  to  him,  by  the  man  who 
had  once  been  his  friend.  He  scarcely  thought  of  Clara, 
then,  a  sense  of  burning  indignation  swept  everything  else 
from  his  mind. 

Clara  leaned  from  the  window,  trembling  with  sudden  ap- 
prehension. Was  he  really  going  ?  Had  her  father  treat- 
ed him  with  indignity  ?  Was  he  giving  her  up  without  a 
struggle  or  a  word  of  farewell  ? 

While  she  asked  herself  these  questions,  Closs  disappeared 
among  the  trees  in  the  park,  and  was  swallowed  up  in  the 
black  shadows. 

"  He  shall  not  go ! "  cried  the  girl,  in  wild  excitement. 
"  He  shall  not  be  driven  away  by  papa,  or  any  one  else ! 
Where  is  my  jacket  ?  What  has  that  girl  done  with  my 
hat?  Ah!  here,  and  here!" 


THE     WIFE     AND     THEDAUGHTEB.       147 

She  huddled  the  shawl  around  her,  tossed  the  little 
sailor's  hat  to  her  head,  and,  opening  the  chamber  door  so 
swiftly  that  it  made  no  noise,  darted  down  stairs,  and,  avoid- 
ing the  principal  entrance,  reached  the  lawn  by  leaping 
from  one  of  the  drawing-room  windows,  where  she  paused  a 
moment  to  draw  breath.  But  no  time  was  to  be  lost.  At 
the  rate  Hepworth  was  walking,  he  must  now  be  well  on 
his  way  to  the  lodge.  The  avenue  swept  away  from  the 
house  in  a  grand  curve.  She  knew  of  a  path  through  the 
trees  which  would  lead  her  straight  to  old  Badger's  lodge. 
It  was  shadowy  and  lonesome,  but  what  did  she  care  for 
that?  No  deer  ever  bounded  down  that  path  more  lightly 
than  Clara  went.  She  did  not  stop  to  think  of  propriety, 
or  of  her  own  object.  Her  heart  told  her  that  Hepworth 
had  been  driven  from  the  house,  perhaps  thinking  that  she 
would  sanction  the  outrage  ;  for  it  was  an  outrage,  even  if 
her  own  father  had  done  it.  He  should  not  go  away,  be- 
lieving it  possible  for  her  to  prove  so  base. 

On  she  went,  eager,  breathless,  with  the  streamers  float- 
ing out  from  her  hat,  and  her  white  sacque  flying  open, 
fairly  racing  through  the  moonlight,  like  a  frightened  fairy. 

As  she  came  in  sight  of  the  lodge,  the  clang  of  an  iron 
gate  falling  into  position,  brought  a  cry  of  dismay  from  her 
lips.  He  had  reached  the  highway.  Dared  she  follow  him 
there  ? 

Clara  came  out  into  the  avenue,  panting  for  breath.  She 
could  hear  his  quick  steps  upon  the  road.  How  terribly 
fast  he  was  walking  toward  the  village.  Yes,  he  was  surely 
going  that  way. 

Old  Badger  stood  in  the  lodge  door,  shaded  by  a  trailing 
drapery  of  ivy,  and  saw  the  young  lady  standing  there  in 
the  moonlight,  wringing  her  hands  and  absolutely  crying. 
In  his  astonishment  he  addressed  Jules  confidentially,  as 
she  lay  on  the  stepping* stone  at  his  feet, 


148  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  It  is  the  young  lady  as  sure  as  you  live,  old  girl,  and 
she's  a  following  that  handsome  fellow  as  just  left  a  golden 
sovereign  in  my  hand,  Jules.  •:  Something  has  happened  up 
yonder,  Jules.  The  master  has  come  back  and  found  out 
what  you  and  I  knew  all  the  time.  If  that  handsome 
brother  of  my  lady  hasn't  got  a  ticket-of-leave,  I  lose  my 
guess ;  but  what  are  we  to  do  with  the  young  lady,  old  girl  ? 
That  is  what  is  a  puzzling  me  just  now." 

Jules  arose,  stretched  herself,  and  threw  out  one  paw  as 
she  settled  down  again,  when  Badger  broke  out  in  a  glow 
of  admiration. 

"Eight,  Jules.  In  a  matter  where  the  sects  are  con- 
cerned, you  are  true  as  a  clock.  I'll  show  myself;  I'll  help 
Ler." 

Jules  gave  a  faint  yelp,  which  brought  Clara  to  the  door. 

Oh,  Badger,  you  here  !  Go  and  call  him  back.  Here  is 
some  money ;  run  like  a  deer ;  tell  him  I  want  to  speak 
with  him — must  speak  with  him.  It's  about  Lady  Hope  ; 
but  no  matter.  Why  don't  you  start,  Badger?  It's  half 
an  hour  since  I  first  told  you." 

But  Badger  did  not  start.  He  stood  a  little  way  from 
the  door,  examining  the  money  she  had  given  him,  by  the 
moonlight,  and  muttering  to  himself;  when  the  impatient 
girl  broke  out  again. 

"  A  shilling !  Was  it  only  a  shilling.  I  gave  you  ?  How 
provoking !  I  thought  it  was  gold.  Well,  start !  start ! 
and  I'll  make  it  a  sovereign — two,  three — only  bring  him 
back!" 

Old  Badger  went  off  with  a  rush  now.  Ordering  Jules 
to  stay  with  the  young  mistress  and  mind  the  gate,  he  made 
swift  progress  down  the  road. 

"  I  say,  sir  !     I  say  !     Halloo !  I  say  ! " 

Hepworth  checked  his  rapid  walk,  and  looked  back. 
Badger  came  up  with  a  run,  feeling  that  some  extra  exer- 


THE     WIFE     AND     THE     DAUGHTER.       149 

tion  was  necessary,  when  so  much  gold  lay  in  the  ques- 
tion. 

"  There  is  a  person — well,  a  lady — a  young  lady — who 
wishes  to  have  you  turn  back,  sir.  She  is  waiting  at  the 
lodge,  sir;  and  I  promised  to  bring  you  back,  dead  or  alive, 
sir — dead  or  alive  ! " 

Hepworth  felt  his  heart  give  a  great  leap.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  Clara  could  have  followed  him  ?  or  was  it  Lady 
Hope? 

"A  lady  !  "  he  said,  "  and  at  the  lodge  ?  " 

"A  young  lady — such  as  isn't  commonly  seen  following 
young  gents  by  moonlight ;  but  come,  sir,  she  is  wait- 
ing." 

Hepworth  turned  at  once,  and  retraced  his  steps.  Clara 
saw  him  approaching  the  gate,  and  swinging  it  back,  ran 
to  meet  him,  with  tears  still  quivering  on  her  anxious 
face. 

She  passed  Badger,  who  was  resolved  to  earn  his  money 
at  least  by  discretion,  and  moved  in  great  haste  toward  the 
lodge,  never  once  looking  back,  as  in  honor  bound,  he  told 
Jules  in  his  next  confidential  conversation. 

"  Oh,  Hepworth,  how  cruel !  how  wicked  !  Tell  me  truly, 
were  you  going  without  a  word  ?  " 

Clara  had  clasped  both  hands  over  her  lover's  arm,  and 
was  slowly  leading  him  back,  with  her  face  uplifted  in  sweet 
reproachfulness  to  his,  and  drawing  deep,  long  sighs  of 
thanksgiving  that  she  had  him  there,  chained  by  her  linked 
hands. 

"  I  do  not  know.  How  can  I  tell  ?  Your  father  has  dis- 
missed me  from  his  house." 

"  He  has  ?  I  thought  as  much  ;  and  thinking  so,  came 
after  you — but  only  to  say  that  I  love  you  dearly — ten  times 
more  since  this  has  happened — and  nothing  on  earth  shall 
ever  make  me  marry  any  other  person." 


150  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Hepworth  looked  down  into  that  generous  face,  and  his 
own  took  a  softer  expression  in  the  moonlight. 

"Your  father  is  against  us,"  he  said.  "  I  think  it  must 
be  open  defiance,  or  separation — at  any  rate,  for  a  time." 

Clara's  face  clouded.  She  loved  her  father,  and  was  a 
little  afraid  of  him  as  well ;  but  that  was  nothing  to  the 
passionate  attachment  she  felt  for  Hepworth  Gloss.  She 
would  have  defied  the  whole  world  rather  than  give  him 
up ;  but  open  disobedience  was  a  terrible  thing  to  her.  All 
at  once  she  brightened. 

"  Some  day,  you  know,  I  shall  be  my  own  mistress.  We 
can  wait.  I  am  so  young.  When  I  am  Countess  of  Car- 
set^,  come  and  claim  me.  No  one  can  stand  between  us 
then." 

She  spoke  firmly,  and  with  the  dignity  of  deep  feeling, 
standing  upright  and  looking  bravely  into  his  face,  as  if 
she  were  a  peeress  already,  and>was  ready  to  pledge  all  the 
honor  of  a  long  race  of  ancestors  for  the  faith  that  was  in 
her. 

"Ah,  if  you  were  only  the  bright,  handsome  girl  you 
seem,  with  no  dignity  to  keep  up,  no  belongings  but  your 
own  sweet  self,  how  grateful  I  should  be  !  From  this  night, 
Clara,  we  would  never  part." 

"  Oh,  if  it  were  !  If  I  hadn't  anything  to  expect !  But, 
no !  My  old  grandmother  will  be  sure  to  leave  me  everv- 
thing  she  has,  just  out  of  spite,  when  all  I  want  on  earth  is 
my  liberty,  and  the  love  that  belongs  to  me.  How  I  should 
like  to—" 

"To  what,  Clara?" 

"  Nothing — only  I  was  thinking  how  jolly  it  would  be 
just  to  tie  on  my  hat,  button  my  jacket,  and  go  off  with 
you  to  America,  where  people  can't  die  and  leave  you  titles 
and  things ;  but  it  is  of  no  use  thinking  of  such  a  thing. 


THE     WIFE     AND     THE     DAtJGHTER.       151 

It  would  break  mamma  Kachael's  heart ;  and  she  needs  me 
so  much." 

Hep  worth  caught  his  breath.  The  thought  had  been  in 
his  mind.  But  for  his  sister,  I  think  he  would  have  pro- 
posed it. 

"Do  not  tempt  me,  darling.     We  cannot  abandon  her." 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  Clara,  pouting  a  little,  "  I  didn't 
mean  anything  of  the  kind.  Of  course,  we  have  got  to 
part  now  ;  I  know  that." 

She  clung  to  his  arm  more  closely,  and  made  him  walk 
slower.  Both  their  faces  grew  pale  and  sad  in  the  moon- 
light. She  could  not  speak  because  of  the  sobs  that  came 
swelling  into  her  throat.  He  was  silent  from  a  bitter  sense 
of  bereavement.  After  those  few  weeks  of  entire  happiness, 
was  he  to  be  driven  into  the  cold  world  again,  leaving  the 
angel  of  his  paradise  behind  ? 

They  were  drawing  near  the  gate  now.  Hepworth  would 
not  pass  into  the  boundaries  of  a  man  who  had  wounded 
him  so  grievously,  so  he  paused  by  the  park-wall,  snatched 
her  to  his  bosom,  kissed  her  lips,  her  eyes,  her  hair,  blessing 
her  with  his  soul,  promising  to  find  her  again,  to  be  faitn- 
ful,  begging  her  to  love  him  and  no  one  else,  until  he  broke 
away  from  her  and  fled  down  the  highway,  dashing  the  tears 
from  his  eyes  as  he  went. 

She  called  after  him.  She  ran  a  few  paces  v.ith  her  arms 
extended,  entreating  him  to  come  back ;  but  he  would  not 
hear.  All  his  brave  manhood  had  been  taxed  to  its  utmost. 
He  knew  well  enough  that  to  go  back  was  to  take  the  girl 
with  him,  and  he  was  not  selfish  enough  for  that. 

So  poor  Lady  Clara  watched  him,  till  he  passed  quite 
away  into  the  shadows,  with  her  back  against  the  wall,  and 
her  hands  hanging  down  loose,  as  they  had  fallen  after  her 
last  cry.  Then  she  crept  slowly  back  through  the  gate, 


152  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

which  Badger  had  left  open,  and  away  into  the  depths  of 
the  park,  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Badger  saw  her  through  the  diamond-shaped  panes  of  the 
lodge-window,  and  muttered : 

"  Poor  thing,  she  has  forgot  the  gold ;  but  never  mind,  it 
will  come." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HUSBAND    AND     WIFE. 

LADY  HOPE  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  breathless. 
The  supreme  joy  of  her  husband's  presence  drove  every 
other  feeling  from  her  heart.  She  forgot  her  brother,  her 
step-child,  everything,  in  the  one  thought  that  he  was  near 
her.  But,  was  it  certain  that  he  would  come  ?  How  many 
months,  nay,  years,  had  passed  since  he  had  entered  that 
room,  once  so  dear  to  him  that  no  other  apartment  in  that 
spacious  mansion  seemed  pleasant?  She  had  allowed  noth- 
ing to  be  changed  since  those  days.  Year  by  year  those 
silken  hangings  and  crimson  cushions  had  lost  their  bright- 
ness and  grown  threadbare ;  but  he  had  pressed  those  cush- 
ions and  been  shaded  by  the  curtains,  and  that  gave  them 
a  brightness  and  glory  to  her  which  uo  stuffs  of  India  or 
cloth  of  gold  could  replace. 

She  knew  that  he  was  offended,  and  doubted.  But 
would  he  come  ?  His  step  grew  slow  ;  he  paused.  Would 
he  retreat  at  last,  and  leave  her  there,  in  an  agony  of  disap- 
pointment? 

No — after  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  steps  advanced. 
The  very  certainty  of  his  approach  suffocated  her.  She  had 


HUSBAND     AND     WIFE.  153 

not  deemed  herself  so  weak.  All  the  strength  left  her 
frame. 

She  sank  down  upon  a  couch  near  the  window.  The 
moonlight  fell  over  her  like  a  veil  of  silver  tissue,  and 
through  it  she  looked  like  the  Rachael  Gloss  of  New  York. 

Lord  Hope  tore  away  the  silvery  veil  with  his  presence, 
for  the  shadow  of  his  tall  person  fell  across  it,  throwing  the 
woman  back  into  darkness. 

But  the  light  which  he  took  from  her  slanted  across  his 
face,  and  softened  it  back  to  youth.  Eachael  reached  forth 
her  arms. 

"  Oh,  Norton  !  have  you  come  back  again  ?  " 

Her  voice  vibrated  between  passion  and  pathos.  Her 
trembling  limbs  rustled  the  silken  garments  around  her. 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  not  sternly,  but  with  grave  sad- 
ness. It  was  nearly  two  months  since  they  had  met,  but 
he  did  not  advance,  or  even  reach  out  his  hand.  Then  she 
cried  out,  in  a  burst  of  bitter  anguish  : 

"  Oh,  Norton,  will  you  not  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Rachael,"  he  said,  very  gently.  "  I  came  to  speak 
with  you." 

Lord  Hope  advanced  through  the  window.  No  lights 
were  burning,  for  in  her  sadness  Rachael  had  thought  the 
moonbeams  enough. 

She  moved  upon  the  couch,  looking  in  his  face  with 
pathetic  entreaty. 

He  sat  down  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  took  her 
hand  in  his. 

Awhile  before  that  hand  had  been  cold  as  ice,  but  now  a 
glow  of  feverish  joy  warmed  it,  and  her  slender  fingers 
clung  around  his  with  nervous  force.  She  was  afraid  to 
loosen  her  clasp,  lest  he  should  leave  her  again. 

"  Ah,  Norton !   you  have  been  away  so  long,  so  long  ! " 

"  Has  that  made  you  more  unhappy,  Kachael  ?  " 


154  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  More  unhappy  ?  God  help  me  !  have  I  any  happiness 
beyond  your  presence  ?" 

"  I  sometimes  think  that  we  two  might  be  less — " 

Lord  Hope  paused.  The  hand  in  his  seemed  turning  to 
marble. 

"  In  mercy,  do  not  say  that,  Norton  !  Surely  you  cannot 
return  love  like  mine  with  hate  so  cruel !  " 

"  We  will  not  talk  of  hate,  Eachael.  It  is  an  unseemly 
word." 

"  But  you  are  angry  with  me?" 

"  No,  the  time  has  gone  by  when  I  can  be  angry  with  you, 
Eachael."  * 

"  Oh  !  have  some  mercy  upon  me,  Norton,  and  tell  me 
how  I  have  lost  your  love — for  you  did  love  me." 

"  God  only  knows  how  well !  "  answered  the  man,  with  a 
throe  of  bitter  passion  breaking  up  the  calm  he  had  main- 
tained. 

"Tell  me,  then — tell  me  again!  It  is  so  long  since  I 
have  had  a  happy  thought !  I  will  not  be  put  off  so !  Now 
that  you  are  here,  in  this  room,  with  my  hand  in  yours,  I 
will  not  let  you  go !  Tell  me,  Norton — oh,  tell  me  why  it  is 
that  you  have  changed  so  completely  ?  This  question 
haunts  me.  I  dream  of  it  in  the  night ;  I  think  of  it  all 
day  long.  Answer  me.  Though  the  truth  cleave  my  heart, 
I  would  rather  hear  it !  Why  have  you  ceased  to  love  me  ? 
Why  is  it  that  you  can  leave  me  so  ?  " 

'•'  Kachael,  I  will  answer  you  so  far  as  this :  I  have  not 
ceased  to  love  you." 

The  woman  uttered  a  cry,  and  fell  down  upon  her  knees 
at  her  husband's  feet,  in  a  storm  of  wild  and  happy  tears. 
He  raised  her  up,  bent  forward  as  if  to  kiss  her,  but  drew 
back  with  a  heavy  sigh.  She  felt  him  recoil,  and  the  shud- 
der which  chilled  him  reached  her  also. 


•« 


HUSBAND     AND     WIFE.  155 

"You  love  me,  and  yet  shrink  from  my  touch  !  Ah,  me  ! 
what  has  dug  this  gulf  between  us  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  work  of  our  own  hands,"  he  said,  with  strong 
emotion.  "  It  is  your  curse  and  mine  that  we  must  love 
each  other,  Rachael — love  each  other,  and  yet  be  apart." 

"  Apart !     Oh !  will  there  be  no  end — no  season — " 

"  Yes,  Rachael,  when  we  can  both  repent  that  we  ever 
did  love  each  other.  Then,  perhaps,  a  merciful  God  may 
forgive  us  the  great  sin  which  has  been  our  happiness  and 
our  torment." 

"  But  you  love  me  ?    You  do  love  me  ?  " 

"A  thousand  times  better  than  my  own  miserable  life  ! " 

"  And  you  speak  of  torment !  Who  shall  ever  dare  say 
that  word  again  to  Eachael  Gloss  ?  When  they  do,  I  will 
answer,  '  He  loves  me  !  he  loves  me  ! ' 3 

The  woman  sprang  up,  exulting.  Her  hands  were 
clasped,  her  face  was  radiant.  It  seemed  impossible  that 
unhappiness  should  ever  visit  her  again. 

"  Poor  woman  !     Poor,  unhappy  woman  !  " 

Hope  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  drew  her  down  to  his 
side.  She  was  shaking  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind.  For  the 
moment,  her  joy  seemed  complete. 

"  I  cannot  believe  it !  Say  again,  '  Eachael,  I  love 
you.' " 

"  Have  I  not  said  that  it  is  your  curse  and  mine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Norton !  how  cruel,  with  that  sweet  word  sinking 
into  my  heart,  after  pining  and  waiting  for  it  so  long  !  Do 
not  withhold  it  from  me,  or  think  of  it  as  a  curse." 

"  Hush,  Rachael !  You  are  only  exulting  over  Dead  Sea 
fruit.  It  is  all  ashes,  ashes.  Words  that,  up  to  this  time, 
I  had  forbidden  to  my  lips,  have  been  said,  because  of  a 
terrible  danger  that  threatens  us.  Rachael,  did  you  know 
of  the  letter  Hepworth  sent  me  ?  " 


156  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Eachael  was  a  brave  woman,  even  in  her  faults,  and 
would  not  deny  anything. 

"  Yes,  he  wrote  the  letter  here,"  she  said. 

"And  you  sanctioned  his  pursuit  of  my  daughter?  " 

"  Yes,  Norton.  I  loved  him ;  he  was  my  only  relative. 
That  he  might  live  near  me  was  the  last  forlorn  hope  of 
my  life.  Before  you  condemn  me,  remember  how  few 
people  exist  in  this  world  for  me  to  love.  I  have  no 
friends.  I  was  so  cold,  so  dreary  !  There  was  nothing 
left  to  me  but  your  child  and  this  one  brother.  How 
could  I  part  with  either  of  them  ?  That  was  to  be  utterly 
alone ! " 

Lord  Hope  checked  this  pathetic  plea.  It  shook  his 
resolution,  and  that  with  a  vigor  she  could  not  understand. 
He  looked  her  steadily  in  the  face. 

"Eachael  Gloss,  could  you  have  given  up  my  child  to 
that  man?" 

Eachael  fixed  her  wild  eyes  on  the  face  turned  upon  her 
so  sternly. 

"Why,  why?" 

"  Had  you  no  thought  of  the  ruin  it  would  bring  upon 
her?" 

"  Euin  ?     Did  you  say  ruin  ?  " 

"  Could  you  see  that  innocent  girl's  hand  in  his  without 
thrills  of  painful  recollection  ?  " 

"Why,  he  loves  her ;  she  loves  him." 

"  So  much  the  more  painful." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Her  lips  were  white  now,  and  the  teeth  gleamed  and 
chattered  between  them. 

"Have  you  no  dread  that  he  will  bring  that  one  event, 
perpetually  before  us  ?  " 

Bachael  shook  her  head. 


HUSBAND     AND     WIFE.  157 

"  Does  nothing  tell  you  that  he  was  mixed  up  in  that 
tragedy  ? " 

"What  should  tell  me  of  that?  It  was  the  crime  of  a 
miserable  old  woman." 

"  Still  you  understand  nothing  of  that  which  is  a  contin- 
ual pain  to  me." 

A  burst  of  hysterical  laughter  answered  him.  The 
nerves  of  that  woman  were  undoubtedly  giving  way. 

"  You  are  mocking  me.  It  is  only  fiends  who  torment 
their  victims.  You  are  iny  husband,  and  should  know 
better ! " 

"  Rachael  Gloss,  control  yourself!" 

"I  am  not  Rachael  Gloss!"  cried  the  woman,  fiercely. 
"You  would  not  have  treated  her  so.  It  is  Lady  Hope 
you  are  putting  to  torture.  Oh,  Norton  !  what  have  I 
done  to  you  ?  What  have  I  done  to  you  that  you  should 
mock  me  so  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  save  my  child — to  save  myself." 

"Well,  is  that  all  ?  She  shall  never  speak  to  Hepworth 
again.  Yes,  what  is  my  brother,  or  anybody  in  the  world, 
compared  to  one  smile  from  my  husband  ?  " 

"  And  you  will  help  me  to  reconcile  Clara  to  that  which 
must  be?" 

"  I  will  do  anything,  everything  that  you  wish,  only  do 
not  leave  me  again." 

"  But  I  must  sometimes  go  out." 

"And  I  cannot  go  with  you.  Rachael  Gloss  is  not  good 
enough  for  your  high-born  friends.  Lady  Carset  has  put 
her  ban  on  your  wife,  and  the  nobility  of  England  accept 
it.  But  for  this  I  might  have  been  the  companion  of  your 
visits,  the  helpmate  of  your  greatness  —  for  I  have  the 
power.  I  could  have  done  so  much,  so  much  in  this  great 
world  of  yours,  but  that  old  woman  would  not  let  me.  It 


158  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

is  cruel !  it  is  cruel !  You  would  have  loved  me  now  as 
you  did  at  first,  but  for  her." 

Lord  Hope  took  Kachael's  hand  in  his. 

"Ah,  Kachael!"  he  said,  "if  you  could  but  understand 
the  love  which  can  neither  be  cherished  nor  cast  away, 
•which  pervades  a  whole  life,  only  to  disturb  it !  Between 
you  and  me  must  ever  come  the  shadow  of  a  woman  we 
cannot  talk  of,  but  who  stands  eternally  between  us  two. 
Even  in  the  first  days  of  our  passionate  delirium  I  felt 
this  viperous  truth  creeping  under  the  roses  with  which  we 
madly  hoped  to  smother  it.  The  thought  grew  and  grew, 
like  a  parasite  upon  the  heart.  It  clung  to  mine,  bound  it 
down,  made  it  powerless.  Oh,  would  to  God  the  memory 
of  that  one  night  could  be  lifted  from  my  soul !  The 
presence  of  your  brother  here  has  brought  it  back  upon  me 
•with  terrible  force.  But,  thank  God,  he  is  gone ! " 

"  Gone  !  What,  my  brother?  Am  I  never  to  see  him 
again  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  to  drive  your  husband  from  his 
own  house.  I  will  not  be  reminded,  by  any  one  connected 
with  that  night,  that  it  was  the  mad  passion  of  our  love 
which  drove  that  most  unhappy  woman  from  her  home,  her 
country,  and,  at  last,  into  her  grave ! " 

Kachael  sat  with  her  glittering  eyes  fastened  on  his  face. 
She  longed  to  ask  a  question  ;  but  it  seemed  to  freeze  upon 
her  lips.  But,  at  last,  she  spoke : 

"  Do  you  repent  that  love,  then  ?  " 

"  No !  no  !  Would  to  God  I  had  the  power  to  repent ! 
but  I  cannot,  Kachael,  with  you  by  me  ! " 


THE     STORMY     NIGHT.  159 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   STORMY  NIGHT  AND   SUNSHINY   MORNING. 

LADY  CLARA  found  her  way  into  the  house  unnoticed, 
and  stole  back  to  her  own  room,  weary  and  heart-sick  from 
the  excitement  she  had  passed  through. 

For  more  than  an  hour  she  sat  by  her  window  looking 
out  upon  the  moonlight  which  flooded  the  lawn,  and  the 
dense  black  shadows  of  the  trees  beyond. 

The  stillness  gradually  hushed  her  sobs  into  a  sad  calm, 
and,  without  other  light  than  that  which  came  from  the 
moon,  she  crept  into  her  bed,  and  lay  there,  as  if  buried  in 
a  snow-drift,  cold  and  shivering  from  exhausting  emotions 
and  exposure  to  the  night  air. 

She  could  not  sleep,  but  lay  thinking  of  the  man  who 
had  been  driven  from  the  house  that  night,  wondering 
where  he  was,  and  when,  upon  the  earth,  she  would  meet 
him. 

All  at  once  she  started  up  and  uttered  a  faint  cry.  Some 
one  had  passed  swiftly  through  her  door,  and  was  approach- 
ing the  bed.  She  saw  the  face,  as  it  crossed  the  window, 
and  sank  to  the  pillow  again. 

"  Mamma  Kachael,  is  it  you?  "  she  gasped. 

Lady  Hope  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  She 
seemed  deathly  cold ;  but  there  was  a  far-off  look  in  her 
eyes,  as  the  moonlight  fell  upon  them,  which  seemed 
unnatural  to  the  girl. 

r* Clara  put  back  the  bed-clothes  and  reached  out  her 
arms ;  for  Lady  Hope  was  in  her  night-dress,  and  her  feet 
were  uncovered. 

"  Come  into  bed,  mamma  Eachael ;  you  shiver  so." 

Lady  Hope  took  no  heed,  but  arose  slowly  from  the 


160  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

bed,  and,  going  to  a  dressing-table,  poured  some  water 
from  a  ewer  that  stood  there,  and  began  to  wash  her 
hands. 

Clara  could  see  her  in  the  moonlight,  and  sat  up  in  the 
bed,  afraid  and  wondering. 

"Mamma,  mamma  Rachael,"  she  faltered,  terrified  by 
the  sound  of  her  voice,  "why  are  you  staying  out  in  the 
cold  like  that  ?  " 

Lady  Hope  shook  the  drops  from  her  fingers,  and 
leaving  the  table,  began  to  pace  the  floor.  At  last  Clara 
sprang  from  the  bed  and  took  hold  of  her. 

Every  nerve  in  the  woman's  body  seemed  to  quiver 
under  that  touch  ;  she  uttered  a  shrill  cry,  and  clung  to  the 
girl  to  save  herself  from  falling. 

"Come  to  the  bed  with  me,  mamma.  Your  hand  is 
cold ;  it  touches  mine  like  snow.  That  is  right ;  put  your 
arms  around  me.  Poor,  poor  mamma !  how  your  heart 
struggles !  There,  there ;  the  chill  is  going  off.  We  will 
get  each  other  warm ;  for  we  love  each  other,  you  and  I, 
mamma  Eachael;  nothing  on  this  earth  can  change 
that ! " 

Rachael  allowed  herself  to  be  taken  to  the  bed ;  but  she 
trembled  violently. 

"  You  are  troubled  about  Hepworth  ;  but  I  have  prom- 
ised— I  do  promise.  Papa,  nor  all  the  world  to  help  him, 
could  change  me.  Besides,  there  is  another  thing ;  we 
both  love  him  ;  that  would  make  us  cling  together,  if  no- 
thing else,"  said  Clara. 

"Ah,  there  it  is — there  it  is!     Hepworth  is  gone,  and 
neither  you  nor  I  must  ever  see  him  again ! "   answe 
Rachael. 

"  But  we  will !  He  loves  us.  I  will  marry  him  some 
day,  if  I  live." 

"  Oh,  no,  no !    That  can  never  be  !    Never !  never ! " 


THE     STORMY     NIGHT.  161 

Rachael  was  fearfully  agitated.  Clara  tore  her  form  from 
those  clinging  arras. 

"What!  you?  —  you  turned  against  us  —  you!"  she 
exclaimed,  pushing  Rachael  back  from  her  pillow,  and 
sitting  up  in  the  moonlight.  "Has  my  father  driven  us  all 
crazy  ?  " 

"  Hush,  child,  hush  !  I  have  been  thinking  of  that.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  mad  already.  Be  kind;  oh,  be 
kind !  Do  not  urge  me  on.  To-night  I  have  had  such 
thoughts  ! " 

The  girl  was  frightened  ;  for  Rachael  was  bending  over, 
and  the  fire  of  her  great  black  eyes  seemed  hot  as  it  was 
terrible. 

"  Great  Heavens  ! "  she  cried,  "  what  has  my  father  done 
to  you  ?  " 

Eachael  had  exhausted  herself.  She  lay  down,  panting 
for  breath  ;  her  lips  were  apart ;  the  edges  of  her  teeth 
were  visible;  she  did  not  answer. 

Clara  forgot  her  own  cause  of  offence,  and  laid  her  hand 
over  those  wide-open,  burning  eyes. 

"  Pjoor  mamma  Rachael !  now  try  and  sleep.  I  never 
saw  you  so  nervous  before.  Did  you  know  it  ?  you  were 
walking  in  your  sleep." 

The  cool  touch  of  that  hand  soothed  the  woman.  Clara 
felt  the  eyelids  close  under  her  palm ;  but  a  heavy  pulse 
was  beating  in  the  temples,  which  resisted  all  her  gentle 
mesmerism  for  a  long  time ;  but,  after  a  while,  the  worn 
frame  seemed  to  rest,  and  Clara  sank  down  in  weary 
sleepiness  by  her  side. 

;  When  she  awoke  again  Lady  Hope  was  gone.  It  was 
the  dark  hour  of  the  morning ;  the  moon  had  disappeared 
from  the  heavens ;  the  shadows,  in  diffusing  themselves, 
spread  out  into  general  Darkness. 

"  Ah,  I  have  had  a  weary  dream,"  she  murmured ;  "  I 


162  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

have  heard  of  such  things,  but  never  had  anything  dark 
upon  my  sleep  before.  How  real  it  was !  My  father  home, 
Hepworth  gone,  my  mother  in  this  bed,  trembling,  moan- 
ing, and,  worst  of  all,  against  me  and  him.  Ah,  it  was  a 
terrible  dream ! " 

She  turned  upon  her  pillow,  full  of  sleepy  thankfulness, 
and  the  next  instant  had  deluded  herself  into  a  tranquil 
sleep. 

A  rapid  fall  of  hoofs  upon  ^ie  avenue  shook  the  still- 
ness. Nearer  and  nearer  they  came;  then  a  clang  of  the 
great  bronze  knocker  at  the  principal  entrance  awoke  her 
thoroughly. 

The  girl  listened;  her  dream  was  fast  taking  shape,  and 
she  knew  that  it  was  a  reality.  Had  this  untimely  arrival 
anything  to  do  with  it  ?  A  knock  at  her  chamber-door, 
and  her  father's  voice  answered  the  question. 

She  was  to  get  up,  and  prepare  for  a  journey  at  once ; 
her  maid  was  packing  already. 

What  was  it  ?  What  had  happened  ?  Lord  Hope  forgot 
that  he  had  not  told  her.  The  old  Countess  of  Carset 
had  sent  for  her.  She  must  prepare  to  start  at  once  for 
Hough  ton. 

Clara  sprang  up,  ready  to  offer  battle  to  the  old  countess 
a  second  time  in  behalf  of  her  stepmother. 

While  she  was  being  dressed,  Lord  Hope  stood  in  the 
corridor  without,  reading  the  delicate,  upright  characters  in 
which  the  old  countess  clothed  her  thoughts. 

"  MY  LOKD  :  —  Circumstances  have  happened  of  late 
which  convince  me  that  I  have  been  hasty  and  unjust  t<#  * 
your  wife,  and  have  taken  offense  too  readily  from  the  inde- 
pendence exhibited  by  your  child,  my  grand-daughter.  It 
is  rny  desire  to  atone  for  this,  as  the  men  and  women  of 
our  house  have  ever  atoned  for  injustice.  The  infirmities 


THE     STORMY     NIGHT.  163 

of  old  age,  and  more  than  ordinary  ill-health  forbid  me  to 
visit  Oakhurst,  which  might,  perhaps,  be  properly  ex- 
pected of  one  who  admits  herself  to  have  been  in  the 
wrong;  but,  perhaps  you  and  Lady  Hope  will  permit 
Lady  Clara  to  come  to  me  here  a  few  weeks,  in  which 
time,  I  trust,  she  will  learn  to  know  and  lof£  her  grand- 
mother. 

"Presuming  upon  your  generosity,  I  have  sent  my 
steward  and  my  own  maid,  that  she  may  have  proper  pro- 
tection on  her  journey.  After  my  grand-daughter  has 
been  at  Houghton  long  enough  to  feel  that  it  is  to  be  her 
home  in  the  future,  I  shall  expect  the  pleasure  of  a  visit 
from  you  and  Lady  Hope. 

"  LOUISA,  Countess  of  Carset." 

Never,  since  the  day  in  which  he  brought  the  first  Lady 
Hope  home,  a  bride,  had  such  intense  satisfaction  filled  the 
earl's  heart  as  this  letter  brought  him. 

Involved,  as  he  was,  with  pecuniary  difficulties,  harassed 
about  his  daughter,  humiliated  by  the  silent  rejection  by 
which  the  nobility  in  the  neighborhood  had  repudiated  his 
wife  for  so  many  years,  this  concession  so  nobly  made  by 
the  old  countess,  was  an  opening  of  good  fortune  which 
promised  a  solution  of  all  these  difficulties.  It  had,  in 
truth,  lifted  a  heavy  burden  from  his  life. 

With  the  letter  in  his  hand  Lord  Hope  went  to  his  wife's 
dressing-room,  where  he  found  her,  hollow-eyed,  and  so 
nervous  that  a  faint  cry  broke  from  her  as  he  entered  the 
room. 

She  felt  the  loss  of  her  brother  terribly,  notwithstand- 
ing what  seemed  to  be  a  ready  concession  to  the  harsh 
treatment  he  received,  and  her  sleep,  as  we  know,  had  been 
restless  and  broken  in  the  night. 

She  was  cold  and  shivering,  though  the  weather  was 
10 


164  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

warm,  and  had  wrapped  a  shawl,  full  of  richly  -  tinted 
colors,  over  her  morning-dress,  and  sat  cowering  under  it 
like  some  newly-caught  animal. 

Lord  Hope  felt  that  his  inhospitable  expulsion  of  her 
brother,  and  the  cruel  conversation  that  had  followed  it, 
was  the  caum  of  this  nervous  depression,  and  his  heart 
smote  him.  vVith  the  letter  open  in  his  hand  he  went  up 
to  her  chair,  and  bending  over  it,  kissed  Rachael  on  the 
forehead. 

A  smile  broke  over  those  gloomy  features;  the  heavy 
eyes  lighted  up ;  she  lifted  her  face  to  his. 

"  Oh,  you  do  love  me — you  do  love  me !  " 

"  My  poor  Rachael !  how  can  you  permit  words  that 
sprang  out  of  the  gloomy  memories  which  Hepworth 
brought  to  trouble  you  so  ?  Come,  smile  again,  for  I  have 
good  news  for  you — for  us  all." 

"  Good  news  !     Is  Hepworth  coming  back  ?  " 

"  Forget  Hepworth  just  now,  and  read  that." 

Lady  Hope  took  the  letter  and  read  it  through.  When 
she  gave  it  back,  her  face  was  radiant. 

"At  last — at  last!"  she  exclaimed.  " Oh,  Norton,  this 
will  lift  me  to  my  proper  place  by  your  side.  Now,  now  I 
will  make  you  proud  of  me !  These  patricians  shall  learn, 
that  all  great  gifts  do  not  spring  from  birth — that  genius 
has  a  nobility  which  can  match  that  given  by  kings." 

Rachael  started  up  in  her  excitement,  flung  the  shawl 
away,  and  stood  a  priestess  where  she  had  just  cowered 
like  a  wounded  animal. 

"Now  we  shall  be  all  the  world  to  each  other,  and  walk 
through  this  proud  life  of  yours,  fairly  mated.  Great 
Heavens!  after  a  night  like  the  last,  who  could  have 
expected  such  a  morning?  But  Clara,  you  will  let  her 
go?" 

"  She  is  preparing  to  go  now." 


THE     STORMY     NIGHT.  165 

"  My  girl — my  bright,  beautiful  girl !  She  has  always 
been  the  angel  in  my  path.  But  for  her,  this  might  never 
have  come.  But  we  cannot  give  her  up  —  not  entirely. 
You  will  not  consent  to  that?" 

"  If  we  do,  it  will  be  only  for  a  time,  Kachael.  The 
countess  is  very  old." 

"  Yes,  it  will  not  be  for  long,  and  we  can  trust  Clara.  I 
will  go  to  her  now.  She  will  need  my  help,  and  every 
minute  she  stays  under  this  roof  is  a  grain  of  gold  which  I 
must  not  lose.  Oh  !  Norton,  this  is  glorious  news  that  you 
have  brought  me !  What  can  have  wrought  this  change  in 
the  old  countess  ?  I  am  going  to  Clara  now." 

As  Lady  Hope  opened  the  door,  Clara  stood  upon  the 
threshold,  ready  for  her  journey.  She  knew  that  this 
letter  was  the  first  that  her  father  had  received  from  Lady 
Carset  for  years,  and  was  curious  to  know  its  meaning. 
She  could  not  remember  when  Lady  Carset's  name  had 
been  spoken  in  that  house  without  bitterness,  and  was 
astonished  to  hear  the  cheerful  animation  with  which  it  was 
spoken  now. 

"Am  I  really  to  go,  papa?  Do  you  wish  it?  Is  mamma 
Bachael  willing  ?  Let  me  read  the  letter,  please." 

Lord  Hope  gave  her  the  letter,  and  replied  as  she  waa 
reading  it : 

"  Yes,  my  child,  it  is  but  right.  The  old  lady  is  your 
nearest  female  relative." 

Here  Clara  reached  out  her  hand  to  Lady  Hope,  but  kept 
her  eyes  on  the  letter,  reading  and  listening  at  the  same 
time. 

"And  you  think  it  best,  mamma?  "  inquired  Clara,  fold- 
ing the  letter.  "What  a  delicate,  stately  hand  the  old 
lady  wpftes  !  You  don't  object  ?  " 

"Object,-Clara !  No,  no.  I  long  to  part  with  you,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life." 


166  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  In  some  things,"  said  Lord  Hope,  "  the  old  lady  has 
been  cruelly  dealt  by.  Say  this  from  me,  Clara.  The  con- 
cessions must  qot  rest  all  on  one  side." 

"  Of  course,  papa ;  I  will  tell  her,  if  you  desire  it.  But 
why  did  she  not  ask  you  and  mamma  at  once?  It  is  awful 
lonesome  going-to  that  grim  old  castle  by  myself." 

"It  is  only  for  a  few  weeks,"  answered  Kachael,  hastily. 
"But,  dear  child,  you  must  not  let  this  old  lady  stand 
between  you  and  us.  She  may  have  more  to  give,  but  no 
one  on  earth  can  ever  love  you  like  us." 

"Don't  I  know  it?  Is  that  the  carriage?  Dear  me, 
how  things  are  rushed  forward  this  morning !  Am  I  all 
right,  mamma  Rachael?  Kiss  me  once  more.  What! 
tears  in  your  eyes  ?  I  won't  go  a  step  if  you  don't  stop 
crying !  What  do  I  care  for  Lady  Carset,  a  cross  old  thing, 
and  old  as  the  hills !  " 

"  Clara,  I  hear  the  carriage." 

"  So  do  I,  papa;  but  what's  the  use  of  hurrying?  " 

"I  wish  your  grandmother  to  know  that  I  hold  no 
enmity  by  my  promptness  in  sending  you." 

"Oh,  is  that  it?  Well,  good-bye,  mamma  Rachael. 
One  more  kiss  —  again  —  again!  Now,  good-bye  in  ear- 
nest." 

Lady  Hope  left  the  room  to  hide  her  tears.  Clara  fol- 
lowed her  father  to  the  carriage. 

"  Poor,  poor  mamma !  How  pale  and  ill  she  was  last 
night !  Oh,  papa,  do  kiss  her  good-bye  for  me  just  once 
again,  when  you  go  back." 

Lord  Hope  turned  a  smiling  look  upon  the  girl,  and  she 
added,  half  in  excuse : 

"  It  breaks  my  heart  to  leave  her  so" 

Lord  Hope  did  not  answer,  but  folded  a  cloak  around  his 
daughter,  helped  her  into  the  carriage,  and  took  a  seat  him- 
self. 


AFTEK     THE     FAILURE. 

Margaret  was  already  seated  by  the  coachman. 

"  I  understand  well  enough  that  I  am  not  to  travel  with 
my  young  lady  on  her  journey,"  she  said  ;  "but,  so  far  as 
her  way  lies  toward  London,  I  am  going.  My  sister  wants 
me  there,  and  I  do  just  as  lief  be  in  a  tomb  as  stay  at  Oak- 
hurst  when  Lady  Clara  is  away.  So,  as  she  is  willing,  I 
shall  just  leave  her  at  the  junction,  and  go  up  to  London. 
That  I  can  do  in  spite  of  the  crabbed  old  thing  at  Hough- 
ton,  who  wants  her  at  first  all  to  herself." 

This  was  said  in  confidence  to  the  coachman,  who  mutter- 
ed something  under  his  breath  about  feeling  uncommonly 
lonesome  when  Mistress  Margaret  was  away  from  Oakhurst. 

Directly  after  this  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the  station 
where  a  grim-looking  woman  of  fifty  stood  ready  to  receive 
the  young  lady  from  the  hands  of  her  father. 

It  was  not  often  that  Lord  Hope  was  known  to  exhibit 
any  violent  emotion  ;  but  Clara  felt  that  he  gave  way  a 
little  when  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  in  parting 
— and  Badger,  after  he  opened  the  gate  to  let  his  master 
pass  through,  observed  to  Jules  that  something  out  of  the 
common  must  be  going  on  up  yonder,  for  all  night  people 
had  been  going  in  and  out  like  ghosts,  and  the  master  seem- 
ed like  another  man. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AFTER   THE   FAILURE. 


WHEN  Caroline  reached  home,  after  that  involuntary 
retreat  from  the  theatre,  she  went  to  her  own  room  with 
Eliza,  and  falling  upon  the  bed,  lay  perfectly  still,  so 


168  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

exhausted  and  crushed,  that  she  scarcely  breathed.  She 
had  disgraced  herself,  and  she  had  seen  him. 

Alas,  alas  !  he  had  witnessed  her  defeat,  her  bitter  humil- 
iation ! 

Why  had  she  not  told  him  before,  that  her  mother  was 
an  actress,  a  singer,  of  whose  reputation  he  had  heard ; 
that  her  own  destiny  must  be  guided  by  this  woman,  and 
could  hardly  have  a  higher  aim  than  she  had  already 
reached.  He  would  think  that  she  had  deceived  him,  and 
-she  had,  but  with  no  premeditation.  She  had  honestly 
intended  to  tell  him  everything,  but  the  suddenness  of  their 
departure  from  Italy  had  rendered  all  explanation  impossi- 
ble. What  could  she  do  but  hide  herself  forever  from  him 
and  the  whole  world?  She  forgot  the  bursts  of  applause 
that  had  followed  the  first  effort  of  her  voice,  and  sank 
everything  together  in  one  sweep  of  bitter  shame. 

"  My  darling  !  my  poor  darling  !  " 

It  was  Brown  who  had  crept  into  her  room,  crest-fallen 
and  drooping,  like  a  man  stunned  by  some  heavy  blow. 
Caroline  started  up. 

"  Oh  !  my  friend !  You  are  sorry  for  me,  yet  I  have 
disappointed  you  so;  my  heart  aches  !  my  heart  aches!  but 
what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,"  answered  the  tender-hearted  man.  "  It 
was  the  fright,  stage  fright — a  terrible  thing  ;  but  it  seldom 
comes  twice.  Why,  that  woman,  your  mother  I  mean,  broke 
down  over  and  over  again,  but  the  parts  were  so  small,  no 
one  observed  it  enough  to  clap  or  hiss,  while  you  sang  like 
an  angel,  up  to  th&.very  minute  you  fainted.  I  never  saw 
anything  like  it." 

Caroline  sank  back  to  her  pillow,  moaning.  She  was  still 
in  her  theatrical  costume,  and  its  glitter  sickened  her. 

"  Don't  take  on  so,"  persisted  the  kind  musician.  "  It 
was  not  a  failure.  No  one  will  consider  it  so.  On  the  con- 


AFTER     THE     FAILURE.  169 

trary,  it  can  be  made  to  tell,  and  your  next  appearance  will 
be  an  ovation." 

Caroline  started  to  her  elbow  again. 

"My  next  appearance!  and  you  say  that!  You!  you! 
Oh  !  Mr.  Brown,  I  did  not  think  you  would  turn  against 
me!" 

"  Turn  against  you,  my  child  ?  "  Tears  trembled  in  the 
man's  voice,  and  the  words  quivered  on  his  lips  as  he  added: 
"My  poor  darling.  Do  you  not  know  that  old  Brown  would 
die  for  you  ?  " 

"  Then  keep  me  from  the  stage ;  snatch  me  from  a  life 
that  I  loathe.  I  tell  you,  all  this  is  against  my  nature.  I 
have  no  genius  to  carry  me  forward,  no  ambition,  no  hopfe. 
Oh  !  that  is  gone,  quite." 

"  But  it  is  an  honorable-  profession,"  faltered  Brown,  in 
his  distress.  "  Think  how  many  noble  geniuses  have  found 
immortality  on  the  stage." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it  well ;  but  they  were  led  that  way, 
heart  and  soul,  while  I  have  no  wish  for  fame  or  anything 
that  it  could  bring.  What  does  a  woman  want  with  im-  'if 
mortality — above  all.  a  poor  young  girl  like  me,  whose  very 
heart  trembles  in  her  bosom,  when  a  crowd  of  strange  eyes 
are  turned  upon  her,  as  they  were  on  me  to-night?" 

"  But  you  will  soon  get  over  that." 

"No.  I  never  shall.  This  one  night  has  broken -up  my 
life,  and  well  nigh  killed  me.  Let  what  may  come,  I  will 
Starve  rather  than  tread  that  stage  again." 

"Hush!  dear,  hush!  This  passion  will  make  you 
worse." 

"  But  I  mean  it,  Eliza,  and  I  say  it  here  and  now,  when 
you  and  Mr.  Brown,  the  only  friends  I  have  on  earth,  are 
standing  by.     Think  for  me,  Eliza,  and  you  also,  my  kind,    ' 
kind  guardian  !  " 

"Ah,  if  I  had  the  power,"  said  Brown,  answering  Eliza's 


170  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

appealing  look  with  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head ;  "  but  the 
madame  will  never  give  her  up." 

"She  must,"  said  Caroline,  kindling  with  desperate 
opposition  :  "  I  am  not  her  slave.  God  does  not  give  up  the 
soul  and  conscience  of  a  child  to  her  mother." 

"  Especially  one  who  never  did  a  thing  for  her  child,  but 
left  her  for  others  to  bring  up,"  broke  in  Eliza,  uttering  a 
bitter  truth,  in  her  angry  pity  for  the  girl.  "  Mr.  Brown, 
all  that  I  have  got  to  say  is  this :  you  and  I  must  stand  by 
this  young  cretur,  let  her  do  what  she  will.  She  is  more 
our  child  than  hers.  I  stand  by  that.  If  she  don't  want 
to  put  on  this  splendiferous  dress  again,  why  it  shall  not 
come  within  a  rod  of  her.  If  her  heart  is  set  against  sing- 
ing on  the  stage,  we  are  not  the  people  to  see  her  dragged 
there  against  her  will.  You  stand  by  me,  I'll  stand  by  you, 
and  we'll  roll  ourselves  like  a  rock  in  that  woman's  way,  if 
she  attempts  to  force  our  child  into  the  theatre  again." 

"But  how  can  we  oppose  her?  She  has  the  power. 
We  have  not,  at  this  moment,  five  pounds  among  us." 

Eliza's  face  fell  as  if  it  had  been  suddenly  unlocked. 

"No  more  we  have,  and  in  a  strange  country,  too,"  she 
said,  dolefully. 

Here  Caroline  joined  in. 

"  But  I  can  teach.  If  I  please  all  those  people,  surely  I 
can  teach." 

"  Sure  enough  ! "  said  Eliza,  brightening  a  little.  "  What 
do  you  say  to  that,  Mr.  Brown  ?  " 

"  We 'must  take  time.  Perhaps  there  will  be  no  cause  for 
trouble.  When  it  comes  in  earnest,  you  shall  not  fight 
alone,  Eliza.  So  comfort  yourself,  my  child.  The  old  man 
would  rather  beg  for  bread  on  the  highway  than  sjge  you 
forced  to  anything  that  is  so  distasteful.  Now  try  and 
sleep." 

Brown  bent  down  and  smoothed  tho  girl's  hair  with  his 


AFTER     THE     FAILURE.  171 

hand.  Then  he  turned  from  her  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
crept  out  of  the  room. 

Caroline  followed  him  with  wistful  eyes  until  the  door 
closed.  Then  she  turned  to  Eliza. 

"  Oh  !  Eliza,  do  this  one  thing  for  me,  if  you  can.  Let, 
let  no  one  come  in  to-night.  I  can  endure  no  more." 

"  They'll  have  to  knock  me  down  and  trample  on  me  if 
they  do,  that  is  all,"  answered  the  handmaiden.  tl  My  gra- 
cious! How  I  wish  we  were  in  our  own  little  house  again 
up  in  Sing-Sing." 

"  Oh  !  if  we  were  ! "  sighed  the  girl.  {<  Why  did  we  ever 
leave  it  ?  " 

"Because  we  were  a  couple  of  born  fools,  that's  why!" 
answered  the  maid.  "Born  fools!  and  I  the  biggest,  the 
oldest,  the  most  outrageous  fool  of  all !  Wasn't  we  inde- 
pendent ?  Couldn't  you  have  took  scholars,  and  I  wash- 
ing by  the  dozen?  Hadn't  we  the  sweetest  little  garden 
in  that  whole  town  ?  such  cabbages,  such  onions,  and  let- 
tuce headed  like  cabbage,  and  tender  as — as  flowers! 
Whenever  I  get  sick  over  these  French  dishes,  I  think  of 
that  garden,  and  the  cow,  and  the  shoat  that  knew  me 
when  I  came  to  the  pen  with  corn  in  my  apron,  and  gave  a 
little  grunt,  as  if  I'd  been  his  sister.  Then  my  heart  turns 
back  to  the  old  home,  like  a  sunflower,  and  I  say  to  myself, 
'  You  perposterous  old  maid,  you !  what  did  you  let  that  poor 
young  thing  come  from  under  that  honest  roof  for  ?  You 
was  old  enough  to  know  better,  if  she  wasn't ;  but  you  had 
an  idea  of  seeing  the  world,  of  dressing  up  and  being  a 
lady's  maid,  of  hearing  whole  crowds  of  young  men  stamp 
and  clap  and  whistle  over  that  innocent  young  cretur.  You 
didn't  think  that  she  might  faint  dead  away,  and — and  be 
brought  home  heart-broken.  Home,  indeed  !  as  if  this  box 
of  gilding  could  be  a  home  to  any  American  woman  !  It'c 
perposterous  I " 


172  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Here  Eliza  broke  off  with  a  half-uttered  word  on  her  lips, 
for  her  speech  had  brought  the  old  home  back  so  vividly  to 
the  heart-sick  girl  that  she  was  sobbing  upon  her  pillow  like 
a  child. 

A  little  bustle  down  stairs,  a  knock  at  the  door,  and,  as 
Eliza  ran  forward,  Olympia  pushed  it  open  and  came  in. 

She  saw  Caroline  prostrate  on  the  bed,  with  that  deli- 
cate robe  wrapped  around  and  crushed  under  her,  and  the 
lace  shawl  falling  from  the  pillow  to  the  carpet,  like  a  trail 
of  frost. 

The  sight  urged  her  into  one  of  those  quick  passions  that 
sometimes  threw  her  whole  -household  into  consternation. 

"  Heavens  !  what  extravagance  !  "  she  cried.  "  Does  the 
creature  know  that  lace  like  that  is  worth  its  weight  in 
diamonds?  A  silk  robe,  too,  which  could  not  be  purchased 
out  of  Paris,  tumbled  up  in  a  wad,  and  one  mass  of  wrin- 
kles!  1  see!  I  see!  the  revenues  of  a  duke  would  not 
meet  such  extravagance !  Get  up  !  Get  up,  I  say !  and 
if  you  must  make  a  goose  of  yourself,  do  it  at  less  cost ! " 

"Hush,  madam!  she's  sick  !  She's  broken-hearted!" 
retorted  Eliza,  turning  fiercely  red  and  planting  herself 
before  the  shrinking  girl. 

"  Well,  she  must  break  her  heart  in  something  less  costly 
than  a  French  dress  worth  thirty  pounds,  and  point  lace 
that  cannot  be  got  at  any  price!  Just  get  up,  my  young 
lad}',  and  do  your  crying  in  less  expensive  costume  !  The 
proper  dress  for  tragedy  is  white  muslin,  but  just  now  a 
night-gown  will  do." 

Caroline  arose  without  a  word,  and  began  to  undress  her- 
self. She  no  longer  shrank  or  trembled,  for  the  indignant 
blood  rushed  to  the  surface,  and  pride  gave  her  strength. 
Eliza  took  the  robe  as  she  cast  it  off,  and  folded  it  with  an 
emphatic  sweep  of  her  hand. 

"A  pretty   mess  you  have  made  of  "it,"    said  Olympia, 


AFTER     THE     FAILURE.  173 

tossing  the  lace  aside  with  her  foot,  and  tearing  it  on  the 
buckle  of  her  shoe,  "  with  your  perverse  obstinacy — broken 
up  the  most  splendid  debut  I  ever  saw  on  any  stage,  and 
making  yourself  and  your  failure  the  town's  talk ! -if  the 
critics  had  not,  been  my  friends,  the  whole  thing  would  have 
been  utter  ruination ;  and  here  yon  are,  with  cheeks  like 
flame,  looking  as  haughty  as  a  duchess." 

"  I  am  not  haughty  or  perverse,"  said  Caroline,  wiping 
the  hot  tears  from  her  eyes,  "  but  weary  and  ill." 

"  111 !  with  that  color  ?  "  sneered  Otympia. 

"It  is  fever,"  Eliza  broke  in.  "Ten  minutes  ago  she 
was  white  as  the  pillow.  You  are  making  her  worse  and 
worse,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"  And  I  can  tell  you  that  impudent  tongue  will  lose  you 
a  good  place  within  the  next  ten  minutes,  if  it  is  not  bridled 
and  well  curbed.  I  stand  no  nonsense  from  servants. 
Understand  that ! " 

Caroline  cast  an  imploring  glance  on  her  maid,  who 
dashed  both  hands  down  upon  the  dress  she  was  folding, 
and  ground  her  teeth  in  silent  rage,  as  Olj'mpia  finished 
the  threat  with  a  little  snap  of  her  slender  fingers. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  you  ?  I  have  had  no 
chance  to  ask,  with  j-our  countesses  and  duchesses  swarm- 
ing about,  as  if  you  had  some  acquaintances  that  your  own 
mother  could  not  reach !  What  came  over  you  ?  I  will 
know!" 

"  I  was  faint  and  frightened,"  said  Caroline,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  The  whole  thing  broke  me  down." 

"  But  there  was  something  else.     I  will  know  it! " 

Caroline  was  silent. 

"  Will  you  speak,  miss?  " 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  You  could  see  how  ill  I 
was." 

"  But  not  the  cause ;  it  is  that  I  wish  to  understand." 


174  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Caroline  sat  down  on  the  side  of  her  bed  and  remained 
silent,  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor.  She  had  no  answer  to 
give. 

"  Will  you  tell  the  truth,  or  must  I  search  it  out  ?  I  was 
watching  you  ;  I  saw  your  eyes  and  the  man  whose  glance 
struck  you  down." 

Caroline  gave  a  start,  and  covered  her  face  with  both 
hands. 

"  What  have  you  in  common  with  young  Lord  Hilton  ?  " 

The  hands  dropped  from  that  burning  face,  and  two  great, 
dilating  eyes,  in  which  the  tears  stood,  were  turned  on  the 
angry  woman. 

"  Young  Lord  Hilton  !     I  do  not  know  him." 

The  words  came  faintly  from  the  girl's  lips — she  was  be- 
wildered. 

"  Why  did  he  drop  his  glass  and  bend  over  the  box  with 
that  look  in  his  face,  then  ?  Why  did  you  start  and  trample 
back  on  your  train  ?  Why  did  you  give  him  that  piteous 
glance  just  as  your  eyes  closed  ?  The  audience  might  not 
have  seen  it,  but  I  did,  I  did." 

"  I — I  do  not  understand,"  faltered  the  girl. 

"  Do  not  understand,  miss  ! " 

"How  should  I,  not  knowing  the  person  you  speak  of?  " 

"  Don't  lie  to  me,  girl !  I  am  an  old  bird,  and  have  had 
my  own  flights  too  often  not  to  understand  a  look  when  I 
see  it.  You  have  met  that  man  before — I  don't  know  where 
or  how,  but  you  have." 

"You  speak  of  a  person  I  never  saw  or  heard  of," 
answered  the  girl,  trembling  with  inward  doubt ;  "  how  can 
I  tell  you  anything  about  him  ?  " 

Olympia  almost  believed  her,  and,  for  once,  her  acute 
penetration  was  baffled;  but  a  doubt  remained,  and  she 
turned  to  Eliza. 


AFTER     THE     FAILURE.  175 

"If  you  know  anything  about  this,  tell  me  now;  it  will 
be  better  for  her  and  for  you." 

"  I  haven't  anything  to  tell,  Mrs.  Olympia ;  not  a 
thing!" 

"  Was  any  one  admitted  to  the  house  near  Florence  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  there  was." 

"  Well,  a  young  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  one  young  un,  and  another,  older." 

"  Who  were  they  ?  " 

"  The  man  who  taught  her  how  to  speak  Italian  and  the 
music  fellow." 

"  Only  those  two  ?  " 

"  Not  another  soul  came  or  went  while  we  stayed  in  that 
house." 

"And  she  conversed  with  no  one  on  the  way?" 

"  Not  a  soul." 

Olympia  turned  to  go  out.  She  was  not  convinced ; 
having  no  truth  in  herself  she  found  no  power  of  faith  in 
others ;  but,  for  the  time,  the  blunt  honesty  of  the  servant 
and  proud  sincerity  of  the  girl  silenced  her,  and  she  went 
out,  muttering: 

"  I  shall  get  at  the  bottom  of  it  yet." 

Then  Caroline  turned  to  Eliza : 

"  Can  it  be  ?    I  saw  no  other." 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Eliza.  "  I  always  mis- 
trusted him  for  an  Englishman." 


176         THE  OLD  COUNTESS. 
CHAPTER  XX. 

LORD    HILTOX   TAKES    SUPPER   WITH    OLYMPIA. 

SHE  had  fallen  ill.  The  prima  donna  of  a  single  hour 
was  lying  in  Olympia's  bijou  of  a  house,  struggling  with  a 
nervous  fever.  The  whole  town  had  been  made  aware  of  the 
mournful  fact;  for  the  manager  had  spread  the  news  broad- 
cast through  the  journals,  thus  displacing  disappointment 
with  such  overwhelming  sympathy  as  the  distress  of  beauty 
and  genius  is  sure  to  excite.  For  more  than  a  week,  now, 
the  prevailing  topic  had  been  this  young  girl ;  first  the. 
promise  of  a  brilliant  debut,  then  the  momentary  triumph 
and  sudden  breakdown  ;  now  came  the  news  of  her  illness, 
true,  in  so  much  that  she  was  seriously  ill,  but  exaggerated 
into  a  romance  which  gave  her  out  as  dying  with  a  shock  of 
a  too  sensitive  nature. 

Olympia  sang  gloriously  to  crowded  houses.  In  the  ro- 
mance woven  around  this  young  girl  her  parentage  had  been 
hinted  at,  and  the  practiced  woman  of  the  stage  had  man- 
aged to  turn  the  public  rumor  into  popularity  for  herself. 

She  had  taken  up  the  opera  where  Caroline  had  sunk 
down,  and  carried  it  triumphantly  forward,  filling  the  world 
with  admiration  of  herself  and  sympathy  for  the  girl. 

On  the  morning  when  Caroline's  illness  was  made  public, 
some  young  men  were  seated  in  the  window  of  a  club-house, 
and  one  of  them  threw  down  the  Times  with  an  impatient 
movement. 

"  So  we  are  not  to  have  this  new  singer  again  to-morrow 
night  or  the  next,"  he  said.  "  Here  is  Olympia's  name  in 
the  bills,  while  the  other  is  ill  with  something  on  the  brain 
or  nerves." 

"  All  a  sham,  to  enhance  the  public  interest,  I  dare  say," 


^•tr^rw  <fs-+**mpiA 

THE     SUPPER     WITH     OLYMPIA.  177 

answered  another,  taking  up  the  journal.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing these  musical  people  will  not  do  for  popularity.  But  it 
really  was  not  needed  here  ;  the  girl  has  beauty  enough  to 
carry  her  forward,  even  without  her  glorious  voice.  For  my 
part,  I  am  all  in  a  fever  to  see  her  again." 

A  young  man  sat  in  this  circle,  apparently  occupied  hy 
the  panorama  drifting  through  the  streets.  As  the  con- 
versation went  on,  the  color  came  and  went  in  his  face,  and 
his  eyes  began  to  burn  ;  but  he  said  nothing,  while  the 
others  went  on : 

"Who  is  the  girl?  what  is  her  real  name?  Some  say 
she  is  an  American  ;  others,  that  she  is  Olympia' s  own 
daughter,  to  whom  all  names  are  alike ;  but,  then,  where 
was  the  woman  Olympia  born?  Now  and  then  a  word 
drops  from  the  pretty  lips  which  is  purely  American  ;  but 
then  she  has  been  all  over  the  world,  and  has  gathered 
something  from  all  nations,  so  that  one  can  never  make  a 
true  guess  about  her." 

"  Does  this  girl  look  like  her  ? "  inquired  one  of  the 
young  men,  who  had  not  been  at  the  opera  last  night. 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  was  the  answer.  "  She  is  taller, 
more  queenly,  in  fact ;  quite  a  different  style.  This  new 
girl  is  superb." 

"While  Olympia  is  simply  bewildering,  changeable  as 
the  sky,  erratic  as  a  comet.  We  all  understand  Olympia." 

The  young  man,  who  had  kept  silent  till  now,  joined  in 
the  conversation,  but  his  voice  was  constrained,  and  a  little 
husky. 

"  Who  is  this  woman,  Olympia?" 

The  other  young  men  laughed  at  the  question. 

"Who  is  Olympia?  Why,  the  most  bewitching,  un- 
principled, delightful  bit  of  wickedness  that  has  been 
thrown  on  the  world  for  years.  Don't  tell  us  that  you  are 
to  learn  anything  of  Olympia  at  this  time." 


178  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  I  have  heard  of  her,  and  seen  her  too,  but  only  as  a 
singer.  What  I  ask  is  about  her  life,  her  principles,  her 
character  as  a  woman." 

"And  you  ask  that  of  us,  my  dear  fellow?  What 
nonsense  !  Have  we  not  said  that  she  is  an  actress  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  An  actress  may  be  well-principled, 
honest,  honorable,  and  modest,  too,  as  any  woman  living. 
I  asked  if  this  woman,  Olympia,  the  patroness,  mother,  or 
what  you  will,  of  this  new  singer,  is  one  of  these  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  any  of  us  to  endorse  or  condemn  Olympia. 
We  know  that  she  gives  the  most  delicious  little  suppers  in. 
the  world,  sings  like  a  siren,  smiles  like  an  angel,  and  gets 
more  and  more  fascinating  as  she  grows  older,  as  fruit 
ripens  with  age.  No  one  ever  thinks  of  asking  her  how 
old  she  is,  or  where  she  was  born.  It  is  enough  that  her 
beauty  is  in  its  summer,  her  voice  perfect,  and  that  she, 
who  perhaps  reigned  over  our  fathers,  holds  us  as  her  slaves. 
As  for  honor,  dignity,  principle,  and  all  that,  my  dear 
fellow,  who  ever  expects  such  things  in  a  woman  like  our 
Olympia  ?  » 

"  Yet  she  has  had  the  training  of  this  new  singer." 

"  Training  ?  Why  it  is  said  that  the  girl  is  really  her 
own  daughter." 

"  I  heard  you  say  as  much,"  answered  the  young  man, 
drily. 

Then  another  voice  broke  in. 

"  You  seem  so  much  interested  in  these  people,  Hilton, 
—why  not  go  and  see  for  yourself?  I  will  introduce  you." 

"  When  ?  " 

"To-night.  The  Olympia  has  a  little  supper  after  the 
opera." 

"  But  I  thought  the  young  lady  was  ill." 

"  Oh !  that  will  make  no  difference.  Olympia  is  a 
woman  to  enjoy  herself,  if  Death  sat  next  door.  She  will 


THE     SUPPER     WITH     OLTMPIA.  179 

be  certain  to  have  her  little  supper.  Will  you  go  ?  Is  it 
an  engagement  ?  If  so,  I  will  send  her  a  note." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go." 

That  night  Olympia  held  high  festival  at  her  pretty 
house,  which  overlooked  one  of  the  loveliest  parks  in 
London.  Among  her  guests  was  young  Lord  Hilton,  the 
grandson  of  one  of  the  proudest  old  earls  in  the  kingdom. 

Olympia  was  delighted  at  the  presence  of  this  man,  who 
had  never  before  been  lured  into  her  circle. 

She  had  another  reason  for  her  satisfaction.  The  look 
which  had  disturbed  her  still  preyed  on  her  mind.  She 
had  a  keen  desire  to  learn  how  far  it  had  relation  to  the 
young  girl  who  lay  ill  upstairs.  In  order,  if  possible,  to 
inform  herself,  she  selected  the  young  man  to  sit  next  her 
at  table,  and  artfully  led  the  conversation  to  the  night  of 
Caroline's  failure. 

"  You  were  present,"  she  said,  "  that  night.  Was  ever 
success  more  perfect,  or  failure  more  complete?  It  drove 
me  wild ! " 

"  I  was  present,"  said  Hilton,  very  quietly,  for  he  felt 
her  eyes  upon  him  with  that  slow,  sidelong  glance  that  has 
so  much  cunning  in  it,  and  this  put  him  on  his  guard. 

"  She,  was  coming  out  so  magnificently,"  said  Olympia, 
still  vigilant,  but  with  the  white  lids  drooping  over  her 
eyes,  "  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  her  voice  broke,  and  she  fell. 
It  must  have  been  something  in  the  audience." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  young  man;  "but  what?  I  was 
looking  at  her  all  the  time,  and  saw  nothing.  In  fact,  the 
house  was  very  still.  I  have  seldom  seen  a  crowd  so 
breathless." 

Olympia  turned  one  long  glance  on  that  face,  and  saw  it 
was  immovable  in  all  the  strong,  but  finely-cut  features. 
Her  suspicioas  grew  weaker  now,  and  she  gave  her  atten- 
tion more  generally  to  the  guests,  who  were  becoming  a 
11. 


180  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

little  impatient  of  the  exclusive  attention  paid  to  Lord 
Hilton ;  but  the  craft  of  this  woman  was  as  deep  as  her 
feelings  were  superficial.  She  could  not  quite  throw  off 
the  idea  that,  in  some  way,  this  very  person  had  been  the 
cause  of  her  defeat,  and  that  his  visit  to  her  house  that 
night  would  end  in  some  effort  to  obtain  an  interview  with 
the  young  creature  who  lay  so  ill  upstairs. 

But  she  was  mistaken.  Hilton  asked  no  questions,  made 
no  effort  to  draw  her  out,  but  drifted  into  the  general 
conversation  pleasantly  enough,  until  the  supper  was  near 
its  close,  and  the  wines  had  begun  to  do  their  work. 

Then  the  entertainment  swept  into  an  orgie ;  tongues 
were  loosened,  eyes  brightened  and  swam  in  moisture. 

Snatches  of  bacchanalian  songs  broke  from  the  laughing 
lips  of  Olympia. 

She  had  been  in  a  little  awe  of  her  new  guest ;  but  now 
her  real  nature  broke  out.  Her  wit  sparkled  like  the  cham- 
pagne with  which  her  red  lips  were  continually  moist;  her 
eyes  shone  under  the  droop  of  those  long  white  lids.  Sho 
grew  confidential  with  the  young  noble,  and  was  easily  led 
by  fhe  cool,  versatile  man,  into  conversation  that  she  would 
have  stubbornly  avoided  earlier  in  the  evening.  In  one  of 
her  bold  snatches  of  song  she  rounded  off  with  a  rollicking 
impromptu,  which  carried  all  the  richness  and  force  of 
her  voice  with  it.  This  threw  the  whole  company  into  a 
tumult  of  applause,  but  Hilton  sat  quietly  and  looked 
on,  with  a  smile  of  supreme  contempt  quivering  about  his 
lips. 

"  Ha,"  said  Olympia,  filling  his  glass  with  her  own  hands, 
'fyou  neither  drink  nor  care  for  my  singing.  It  is  only  the 
youth  and  beauty  of  my  daughter  that  can  move  Lord 
Hilton." 

Her  daughter !  The  face  of  the  young  man  turned  white, 
and  his  lips  closed  sharply.  He  looked  at  the  woman  by 


THE     SUPPER     WITH     OLYMPIA.  181 

his  side,  the  flushed  cheeks,  the  soft,  slumbrous  eyes,  with 
absolute  repulsion.  He  hated  the  very  thought  that  the 
young  creature  he  had  found,  like  a  bird,  in  that  sweet 
Italian  home,  could  belong  in  anything  to  a  woman  like 
that.  Still,  she  had,  in  her  reckless  inadvertency,  called 
her  daughter,  and  though  the  very  idea  drove  the  blood  to 
his  heart,  it  was  only  by  a  cold  pallor  that  the  shock  this 
one  word  had  given  to  him  was  visible. 

"Your  daughter  is  very  beautiful,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Did  I  call  Caroline  my  daughter?  Oh,  well,  it  is  no 
matter — the  truth  will  out  sometime,  though  I  would  rather 
wait  till  her  success  is  assured.  When  she  becomes  famous, 
I  shall  glory  in  claiming  her;  but  let  me  warn  you,  it  is  a 
sceret  as  yet.  You  will  understand.  One  does  not  care  to 
own  a  girl  as  tall  as  that  while  the  gloss  is  on  one's  hair. 
Nothing  but  the  most  wonderful  success  will  .induce  me  to 
acknowledge  her  before  the  world." 

"  But  if  she  is  your  child — " 

"  I  have  said  that  she  is  my  child ;  but  it  is  a  secret,  and 
I  did  not  mean  to  talk  about  it.  Tell  me,  now,  did  you 
discover  no  likeness?" 

"I  did  not  observe." 

"  Still,  they  think  her  so  beautiful." 

Lord  Hilton  made  no  answer.  The  conversation  had  be- 
come irksome  to  him ;  but  some  person  at  the  table  took  the 
last  word  from  Olympia's  lips  and  repeated  it  aloud. 

"  Beautiful !  You  must  be  speaking  of  our  new  prima 
donna.  In  my  opinion  she  is  perfect;  but  you,  Lord 
Hilton,  have  only  seen  her  from  the  stage  —  can  form  no 
idea  of  her  loveliness,  or  of  her  voice  either.  There  was 
nothing,  the  other  night,  that  could  compare  with  her  sing- 
ing at  our  little  supper  here.  Besides,  her  beauty,  to  be 


182  THE    OLD     COUNTESS. 

appreciated,  must  be  seen  close.     There  is  not  a  fault  in  her 
face  or  form,  I  can  assure  you." 

Lord  Hilton's  face  flushed  angrily,  then  a  slow  white- 
ness crept  over  it  again,  and  he  bent  his  head,  unable  to 
speak.  The  task  he  had  imposed  on  himself  had  become 
terribly  painful. 

Olympia  was  not  particularly  pleased  with  this  high 
praise  of  another,  though  all  her  ambitious  hopes  lay  in 
the  success  of  the  person  on  whom  these  encomiums  were 
lavished.  She  began  to  shake  up  the  sparkles  in  her  wine 
by  swaying  the  glass  to  and  fro  with  her  hand,  and  a  sullen 
frown  crept  over  her  face. 

"  She  is  obstinate  as  a  mule,"  she  muttered ;  "  tall  and 
proud  as  Lucifer — not  at  all  like  me.  But  they  will  rave 
about  her  beauty,  just  as  if  she  were  more  likely  to  live 
than  to  die." 

"What  did  you  say?"  cried  Lord  Hilton,  sharply; "die! 
die  !  Is  there  any  danger  ?  Is  she  so  ill  ?  " 

Olympia  lifted  her  sleepy  eyelids  and  flashed  a  suspicious 
glance  at  him. 

"Ah  ! "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  are  you  there  !     I  thought  so." 

"You  are  not  answering  me,"  was  the  cold  reply. 

"You  asked  if  there  existed  any  danger,  and  I  answer, 
yes.  Did  you  think  we  were  practicing  stage  effects  in  the 
journals  ?  My  poor  Caroline  is  ill — very  ill." 

"And  what  made  her  ill  ?  " 

"  What  made  her  break  down,  after  such  glorious  prom- 
ise ?  Why,  after  she  sang  before  my  friends  here,  as  fresh 
as  a  lark,  and  drove  them  all  so  wild  that  1,  Olympia, 
was  almost  overlooked?  There  never  were  such  expecta- 
tions; but  see  how  it  ended  —  a  total  failure,  and  brain 
fever." 

"  Did  you  say  brain  fever  ?  " 

The  young  man  scarcely  spoke  above  a  breath. 


THE     SUPPER     WITH     OLYMPIA.  183 

"Yes,  it  is  on  the  brain,  or  the  nerves,  I  am  not  quite  sure 
which  ;  but  the  doctors  look  terribly  grave  when  I  ask  them 
about  her,  and  speak  as  if  she  would  die." 

"Would  to  God  she  might  die!"  exclaimed  the  young 
man,  trembling  from  head  to  foot  with  a  burst  of  agitation, 
that  would  not  be  suppressed  longer. 

"What — What?"  exclaimed  Olympia,  starting  back  in 
affright.  The  glass  fell  from  her  hold,  and  a  rivulet  of 
amber-hued  wine  flashed  along  the  snow  of  the  table-cloth 
while  she  sat  gazing  upon  the  young  lord. 

"  Excuse  me ;  I  was  thinking  of  something  else,"  he 
said,  with  a  strong  effort  of  self-control.  "  May  I  presume 
on  your  favor,  and  steal  away,  now  ?  The  rest  will  not  miss 
me,  I  think." 

Olympia  nodded  her  head  hastily.  The  spilled  wine  was 
dripping  on  her  dress,  so  she  started  up,  and  Lord  Hilton 
withdrew  while  she  was  shaking  the  drops  from  its  silken 
folds,  and  creating  general  confusion  by  her  laughing  out- 
cries. 

Lord  Hilton  looked  back  as  he  crossed  the  passage,  and 
shuddered  at  the  picture  of  riotous  luxury  that  supper-table 
presented. 

"And  she  was  among  them,  in  a  scene  like  that,"  he 
said,  as  the  door  closed  after  him. 


184          THE  OLD  COUNTESS. 
CHAPTER  XXI. 

ON    THE   WAY   TO    HOUGHTON    CASTLE. 

AT  the  junction  of  the  railroad  where  Margaret  changed 
cars  for  London,  a  young  man,  who  had  just  arrived  by  the 
train,  took  the  seat  left  vacant,  and  arranged  himself  com- 
fortably for  a  protracted  journey.  Lady  Clara  watched 
him  with  some  interest,  and  more  than  once  caught  a 
glance  from  his  fine  eyes  as  they  wandered  from  the  pages 
of  his  novel  and  dwelt  upon  her  own  bright  face.  Clara 
had  been  left  to  her  own  devices  while  preparing  for  her 
journey,  and  the  antique  attendant  who  had  been  sent  to 
protect  her  was  grievously  scandalized  by  the  jaunty  little 
sailor's  hat  and  double  -  breasted  jacket  which  she  had 
selected  for  her  travelling  costume.  But  the  woman  had 
been  bred  to  almost  abject  subservience,  and  had  no  idea  of 
venturing  upon  spoken  criticism  or  advice.  She  was 
greatly  troubled,  however,  about  the  impression  this  singu- 
lar costume  might  produce  on  her  old  mistress,  and  felt 
really  shocked  when  she  saw  the  half-puzzled,  half-amused 
expression  of  their  fellow-passenger's  face,  as  his  eyes  first 
encountered  the  future  countess. 

By-and-by  the  old  woman  fell  into  deeper  consternation, 
for  she  began  to  remember  that  handsome  face,  in  spite  of 
the  brown  beard  that  curved  like  a  bow  over  the  upper  lip, 
and  swept  down  toward  his  bosom  in  soft,  silken  waves  that 
a  child  would  long  to  bury  its  little  hands  in. 

"It  is  Lord  Hilton,  the  grandson  of  the  old  earl,"  she 
muttered,  in  silent  consternation ;  "  and  to  see  her  like 
this,  after  all  the  mistress  has  been  planning,  is  terrible  to 
think  of." 


ON    THE    WAY    TO    HOUQHTON    CASTLE.      185 

The  young  man  had  been  so  much  occupied  with  the 
younger  and  prettier  face  that  any  regard  for  that  of  the 
old  servant  was  impossible ;  but  after  a  while  his  eyes  fell 
on  those  hard  outlines,  and  he  gave  a  start  of  recognition, 
which  made  the  old  lady  move  restlessly  in  her  seat. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Judson,  is  it  possible  that  I  find  you  so  far 
from  home ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  can  possibly  have 
come  over  the  old  lady  that  she  is  willing  to  part  with  you 
for  a  journey  long  or  short?  " 

"  My  lady  is  not  so  well  as  we  were  when  you  left  this 
neighborhood  for  foreign  parts,  my  lord.  Indeed,  I  am 
much  afraid  you  will  find  her  greatly  altered.  She  is  now 
almost  entirely  confined  to  her  room." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that.  Lady  Carset  is,  after  all,  an 
aged  woman ;  but  it  would  be  mournful  to  see  her  broken 
down.  Let  me  think.  She  is  quite  as  old,  if  not  older, 
than  my  grandfather,  is  she  not?" 

"There  is  not  a  year  between  them,  I  have  heard  my 
father  say,"  answered  Judson,  with  a  prim  consciousness 
of  th»  delicate  subject  they  had  trenched  upon ;  "  not  that 
I  know  of  myself." 

"  Certainly  not.  But  my  grandfather — it  is  some  weeks 
since  I  heard  of  him." 

"  The  earl  is  quite  well,  my  lord.  He  was  at  the  castle 
only  last  week,  and  spent  a  long  morning  with  my  lady." 

"  Indeed  !  "  muttered  the  young  man.  "  That  probably 
accounts  for  my  summons  home." 

"  She  had  been  uncommonly  anxious  for  a  long  time, 
and  at  last  sent  for  him  to  come  and  see  her." 

"  Very  natural.     They  are  old  friends." 

"  Then,  my  lord,  she  sent  me  on  this  journey — not  that  I 
came  alone.  The  steward  is  on  the  train.  My  lady  would 
not  permit  her  grand-daughter  to  travel  with  but  one 
attendant." 


186  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  Her  grand-daughter?  " 

"I  beg  pardon,  my  lord,  but  this  young  lady  is  Lord 
Hope's  daughter." 

Hilton  lifted  his  hat  and  met  Lady  Clara's  look  of 
smiling  surprise  with  a  courteous  bend  of  the  head,  but 
her  quick  eye  caught  the  sudden  glow  that  swept  his  face, 
and  wondered  at  it.  She  wondered  still  more  when  a  grave 
expression  followed  the  blush ;  and,  instead  of  making 
himself  agreeable,  he  opened  the  novel  that  lay  on  the 
seat,  and  seemed  to  be  occupied  by  its  pages,  though  she 
remarked,  with  an  inward  chuckle,  that  he  never  turned  a, 
page. 

After  awhile  the  young  man  laid  down  his  book,  wearily, 
and  Clara  saw  his  chest  heave  slowly  as  he  breathed  a  long, 
deep,  but  unconscious  sigh. 

"  He  is  in  trouble,  like  me,"  was  her  quick  thought. 
"  Perhaps  his  grandfather  is  a  hard,  cruel  old  man,  and 
drives  everything  he  loves  out  of  doors,  without  caring  how 
he  may  feel  about  it,  or  perhaps — " 

Clara  might  have  gone  on  conjecturing  all  sorts  of  possi- 
bilities; but  that  moment  the  train  stopped  at  a  small 
town,  and  close  by  the  station  she  saw  an  old  woman,  with 
a  pile  of  crimson-cheeked  peaches  and  some  pears  on  a 
table  beside  her.  An  exclamation  broke  from  her,  and  she 
leaned  eagerly  forward  just  as  the  carriage  -  door  was 
unlocked. 

"  Oh,  how  splendid  !  such  peaches !  such  pears !  "  she 
exclaimed,  feeling  in  the  pocket  of  her  sacque  for  some 
loose  money,  which  she  usually  carried  there.  "  Oh  !  Mar- 
garet— " 

Here  she  turned  to  the  woman  next  her,  and  blushed 
with  vexation  when  she  remembered  that  Margaret  was  no 
longer  there  to  take  her  commands. 


ON    THE    WAYTO    HOUGHTON    CASTLE.      187 

"  Dear  me !  I  forgot.  No  matter.  Oh,  mercy !  what 
have  I  done  ?  " 

She  had  done  nothing  but  what  was  most  likely  to  obtain 
her  object,  for  Lord  Hilton  had  pushed  open  the  door, 
leaped  out,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  returned  with  his  hands 
full  of  the  peaches  and  pears  she  had  craved  so.  She  was 
blushing  scarlet  when  he  came  back  and  dropped  the  lus- 
cious fruit  into  her  lap,  as  if  they  had  been  acquainted  fifty 
years. 

"  Oh,  you  are  too  kind !  I  did  not  mean  —  I  did  not 
expect ;  but  please  eat  some  yourself.  Here  is  a  splendid 
one.  Mrs.  Judson,  take  pears  or  peaches,  just  as  you  like 
— delicious ! " 

The  mellow  sound  of  this  last  word  was  uttered  as  her 
white  teeth  sank  into  the  crimson  side  of  a  peach,  and  for 
the  next  minute  she  said  nothing,  but  gave  herself  up  to  a 
child-like  ecstasy  of  enjoyment,  for  the  road  was  dusty,  and 
this  luxurious  way  of  quenching  her  thirst  was  far  too 
sweet  for  words.  Besides,  her  companions  were  just  as 
pleasantly  employed.  She  saw  the  young  man  wiping  a 
drop  of  amber  juice  from  his  beard,  and  wondered  where 
the  Abigail  found  her  self-command  as  she  watched  her 
slowly  peeling  one  of  the  finest  pears  with  a  silver  fruit- 
knife  which  she  took  from  her  traveling  satchel. 

"  Splendid,  aint  they  ?  "  she  said,  at  length,  leaning  for- 
ward and  tossing  a  peach-stone  out  of  the  window,  while 
she  searched  the  golden  and  crimson  heap  with  her  disen- 
gaged hand  for  another  peach,  mellow  and  juicy  as  the  last. 
"  I  had  no  idea  anything  on  earth  could  be  so  delightful. 
We  had  breakfast  so  early,  and  I  do  believe  I  was  almost 
hungry.  Oh,  how  pleasant  it  must  be  when  one  is  really 
famished ! " 

Here  Clara  cast  another  peach-stone  through  the  win- 
dow, and  began  to  trifle  with  a  pear,  just  as  Judson  cut  a 


188  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

dainty  slice  from  the  fruit  she  had  been  preparing.  Clara 
laughed,  and  reached  a  handful  of  fruit  over  to  the  gentle- 
man who  had  made  her  a  gift  of  the  whole.  He  received 
it  cheerfully — in  fact,  it  was  quite  impossible  for  any  man 
under  thirty  to  have  spent  a  half  hour  in  that  young  girl's 
society  without  feeling  the  heart  in  his  bosom  grow  softer 
and  warmer. 

"  What  a  lovely  day  it  is  ! "  she  said,  tossing  off  her  hat, 
and  leaning  forward,  that  the  wind  might  blow  on  her  face, 
which  at  the  moment  had  all  the  sweet  blooming  freshness 
of  a  child's.  "  I  wonder  if  the  country  is  as  green  and 
fresh  as  this,  where  we  are  going  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  can  answer  you.  It  is  far  more  beautiful. 
Hough  ton  Castle  is  among  the  hills.  The  park  is  like  a 
forest,  and  in  the  valley  you  can  see  a  river,  winding  in  and 
out"  like  gleams  of  quicksilver.  A  grand  old  place  is 
Honghton  Castle,  let  me  answer  you,  Lady  Clara." 

Clara  shook  her  head,  and  drew  back  in  her  seat. 

"  I  wish,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  that  the  dear  old 
lady  could  just  take  the  title  and  the  castle  with  her." 

She  seemed  very  much  in  earnest,  and  pulled  the  sailor's 
hat  down  over  her  eyes,  to  conceal  the  tears,  that  were  fill- 
ing them  with  moisture. 

Lord  Hilton  was  surprised.  He  had  certainly  intended 
to  interest  the  young  lady  by  a  description  of  the  noble 
place  that  would  some  day  be  hers. 

"  Ah,  wait  till  you  have  seen  Houghton.  It  is  one  of 
the  finest  old  strongholds  in  the  kingdom.  The  only  won- 
der is  that  Cromwell,  that  magnificent  old  hypocrite,  hap- 
pened to  spare  it.  When  Lady  Carset  stands  upon  her 
own  battlements,  she  can  scarcely  see  the  extent  of  her 
lands.  A  very  wealthy  lady  is  the  old  countess." 

Clara  all  at  once  began  to  wonder  how  it  happened  that 
the  man  was  giving  her  so  much  knowledge  about  her  own 


ON    THE    WAY    TO    HOUGHTON    CASTLE.      189 

near  relative.     How  did  he  know  that  her  information  did 
not  equal  his  own? 

"  You  live  near  Houghton,  I  suppose  ?"   she  said. 

"  Yes ;  when  the  flag  is  up,  we  can  see  it  plainly  enough 
from  my  grandfather's  place." 

Clara  brightened  out  of  her  momentary  depression.  If 
she  were  compelled  to  stay  long  at  Houghton,  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  meet  this  handsome  and  pleasant  young  man. 
How  kind  he  had  been  about  the  fruit.  With  what  genial 
sunshine  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  her,  as  he  sought  to  interest 
her  about  the  place  to  which  she  was  going.  Judson  was 
not  so  well  pleased.  She  had  some  doubts  of  the  propriety 
of  permitting  these  young  persons  to  drop  into  such  familiar 
conversation,  with  no  more  impressive  introduction  than  the 
chance  courtesies  of  a  railroad  car. 

True,  she  had  known  the  young  man  when  he  was  quite 
a  child,  and  liked  him,  as  well  as  her  prim  habits  and 
narrow  channel  of  thought  would  permit;  but  nothing  in 
her  experience  had  taught  her  how  to  act  in  an  emergency 
like  that. 

The  young  people  had  given  her  no  opportunity  for 
reflection,  but  plunged  into  an  acquaintance  at  once.  The 
whole  thing  troubled  her  greatly,  but  what  could  she  do? 

There  they  sat,  face  to  face,  eating  peaches  together, 
talking  of  the  scenery,  laughing  now  and  then,  again  and 
again  half  quarreling,  as  if  a  dozen  years  had  ripened  the 
acquaintance  between  them.  It  quite  took  away  her 
appetite  for  the  fruit,  and  she  clasped  her  little  silver  knife, 
with  a  helpless  sigh,  and  dropping  both  hands  into  her  lap, 
wondered  what  on  earth  she  could  do,  and  of  course  did 
nothing. 

The  young  people  forgot  all  about  the  prim  Abigail,  and 
went  on  with  their  conversation  ;  but  after  awhile  a  shade 
of  sadness  crept  over  both  those  young  faces.  Their  hearts 


190  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

wandered  off  into  serious  reveries,  and  for  a  time  they 
became  unconscious  of  each  other's  presence. 

Clara  was  thinking  of  that  night,  which  now  seemed  far, 
far  away,  but  was,  in  fact,  scarcely  twenty -four  hours  back 
in  her  life — of  the  words  that  were  spoken,  the  promises 
given,  and  sealed  with  kisses,  which  seemed  burning  on  her 
lips  even  yet. 

Oh  !  where  was  he  now,  the  man  whom  she  loved  so 
entirely,  and  whose  humiliation  made  her  heart  ache,  and 
burn  with  sorrow  and  wrath  every  time  she  thought  of  it? 
Would  he  hold  to  his  faith  with  her,  after  such  scornful 
treatment  from  her  father  ?  Where  would  he  go  ?  Where 
was  he  now  ?  He  had  been  a  wanderer  always,  and  had 
found  himself  sufficient  to  himself. 

After  he  saw  her  the  first  idea  of  rest  and  a  permanent 
home  had  opened  new  vistas  of  hope  to  him.  He  had 
found  the  one  thing  that  had  hitherto  been  denied  to  his 
existence — found  it  only  to  be  driven  from  the  light  that 
had  dawned  upon  him,  like  a  trespassing  dog. 

Clara's  heart  swelled  as  she  thought  of  all  this,  and  all  at 
once  the  prim  Abigail  was  astonished  out  of  all  propriety 
by  a  burst  of  sobs  from  the  corner  in  which  Clara  had 
retreated. 

The  young  man  looked  up  and  came  out  of  his  own  mel- 
ancholy thoughts,  just  as  Mrs.  Judson  had  drawn  forth  her 
smelling-bottle  and  was  pressing  it  upon  the  girl,  who 
averted  her  face  and  sobbed  out,  piteously : 

"  Oh  !  let  me  alone — please  let  me  alone !  " 

Judson  retreated  backward  to  her  place  in  the  opposite 
corner,  while  the  young  man  motioned  her  to  remain  quiet, 
and  let  the  pretty  creature  sob  out  her  grief  unmolested. 

At  last  Clara  had  wept  her  sudden  burst  of  sorrow  away, 
and  became  conscious  of  her  own  strange  conduct.  She 
pushed  back  her  hat,  drew  the  soft  gauze  streamers  across 


THE     OLD     COUNTESS.  191 

her  eyes,  and  burst  into  a  sobbing  laugh,  exquisitely  child- 
like, but  which  Judson  could  not  in  the  least  understand. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  getting  homesick,"  she  said.  "I  never 
was  so  far  from  Oakhurst  before,  and,  until  this  morning, 
you  know,  I  had  never  seen  either  of  your  faces,  but  all 
that  need  not  make  such  an  absurd  baby  of  me." 

Mrs.  Judson  unfolded  a  fine  pocket  handkerchief  and 
held  it  toward  the  girl,  with  the  most  anxious  look  possible 
to  imagine. 

"Wipe  your  eyes,  dear  young  lady,  wipe  your  eyes.  We 
are  coming  to  Houghton,  and  I  would  not  have  you  seen 
with  that  face  for  the  world." 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  looking  out,  "yonder  is 
Houghton  Castle." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    OLD    COUNTESS. 

"  I  WILL  see  her  now,  Judson."  The  old  lady  of  Hough- 
ton  came  out  from  her  dressing-room  as  she  said  this. 

She  had  a  little  cap  of  gossamer  lace  and  silver  ribbon  on 
that  shaking  head,  and  tied  a  girdle  of  silken  cord  around 
the  floating  folds  of  her  cashmere  morning  robe,  which  would 
better  have  concealed  the  attenuated  figure  underneath,  had 
it  been  permitted  to  float  loose,  as  it  had  done.  But  the 
dainty  old  lady  still  felt  a  stir  of  feminine  pride  in  her  toilet, 
and  though  the  exertion  took  away  all  her  strength,  she 
had  made  these  pretty  additions  to  her  dress,  rather  than 
meet  her  grandchild,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  disarray  of  an 
invalid. 


192  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  I  will  see  her  now,  Judson." 

She  repeated  this,  panting  for  breath,  as  she  sank  down 
to  the  couch  in  her  favorite  tower-chamber,  and  took  the 
delicate  handkerchief  of  lace  and  cambric,  on  which  Judson 
had  just  dropped  some  pungent  perfume. 

Judson  left  the  room  ;  directly  the  red  curtain  parted 
again,  and  behind  the  grim  waiting-maid  came  a  young  girl, 
flushed  with  excitement  and  rosy  with  perfect  health,  but  so 
strangely  dressed  that  the  old  countess  uttered  a  little  excla- 
mation of  surprise,  mingled  perhaps  with  a  little  displeasure. 
The  jaunty  hat  with  its  blue  streamers,  the  double-breasted 
jacket,  glittering  with  buttons,  took  away  her  breath. 

Lady  Clara  hesitated  a  moment,  took  off  her  hat  hur- 
riedly, like  a  naughty  boy,  and  came  forward  with  an  easy 
step,  as  if  she  had  been  in  a  forest,  and  the  high  heels  of 
her  pretty  boots  trampling  down  wood  moss,  instead  of  the 
tangle  of  flowers  in  that  sumptuous  carpet. 

The  old  lady  sat  gazing  on  her  full  half  a  minute.  The 
girl  flushed  crimson  under  the  steady  look  of  those  brown 
eyes,  turned  around  and  gave  her  hat  a  toss  to  Judson,  who 
let  it  fall  in  her  astonishment  at  the  audacious  act,  and  came 
forward,  half-indignant,  half-crying. 

"  Grandmother ! " 

As  that  fresh,  young  voice  fell  upon  her,  the  old  countess 
reached  forth  her  hand. 

"  My  child  !  " 

The  old  voice  was  faint,  but  kind.  Lovely  as  that  young 
creature  was,  she  brought  sadness  and  disappointment  with 
her.  The  prejudice  of  years  is  not  easily  swept  away  from 
the  mind  of  an  aged  woman,  whatever  her  strength  of 
character  may  be.  This  girl  was  the  step-daughter  of  the 
governess  she  had  so  long  detested^  and  she  seemed  to  bring 
the  atmosphere  of  a  hated  place  with  her.  Perhaps  she 
had  expected  a  more  stately  bearing  in  her  daughter's  child. 


THE     OLD     COUNTESS.  193 

A  chair  had  been  drawn  up  to  the  couch  by  the  thought- 
ful Judson,  and  the  countess  made  a  gentle  motion  that  her 
grand-daughter  should  occupy  it. 

Clara  sat  down,  feeling  nervous  and  very  miserable ;  for 
those  eyes  followed  her  with  mournful  curiosity,  which  the 
high-spirited  girl  mistook  for  criticism. 

"  I  dare  say  that  I  am  not  so  handsome  or  so  good  as  my 
poor  mother  was,  but  she  loved  me  dearly,  everybody  says 
that,  and  for  her  sake  you  might  be  glad  I  am  here,  grand- 
mother, especially  as  you  sent  for  me." 

As  Clara  said  this,  tears  swelled  from  those  blue  eyes  that 
had  been  slowly  filling,  and  dropped  to  her  cheeks  like  rain 
upon  damask  roses.  This  appeal,  so  childlike  in  its  passion, 
lifted  the  old  countess  out  of  her  seeming  apathy.  She 
arose,  laid  her  hands  on  that  young  head  and  kissed  the 
flushed  forehead. 

The  moment  Clara  felt  the  touch  of  those  tender  lips,  she 
threw  both  arms  around  the  shadowy  old  woman,  and  broke 
forth. 

"Oh,  grandmother,  grandmother,  don't  stop  to  think 
about  it,  but  let  me  love  you  !  I  want  to  so  much,  for  with- 
out that  I  shall  be  awfully  homesick." 

The  old  lady's  heart  beat  as  it  had  not  done  for  years. 
Never,  since  her  only  child  went  forth  from  those  proud 
walls  a  bride,  had  any  one  dared  to  claim  her  love,  or  speak 
to  her  as  one  free  soul  speaks  to  another.  In  the  haughty 
isolation  of  her  rank,  she  had  almost  forgotten  that  equa- 
lity could  ever  be  claimed  of  her.  The  very  audacity  of  this 
cry  for  affection  stirred  the  old  lady's  pride  like  a  trumpet. 

"  There  speaks  the  Carset  blood,"  she  said,  appealing  to 
the  grim  hand-maiden  who  stood  by  ;  "  always  ready  to  give 
and  bold  to  claim  just  rights.  My  grandchild  is  of  the  true 
stock,  you  see.  God  b'less  her  and  love  her  as  I  will ! " 

"  There,  now,  that  is  very  kind  of  you,  grandmamma,  and 


194  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

you  are  just  the  dearest,  sweetest  and  queenliest  lady  that 
ever  made  a  poor  girl  happy,  when  she  was,  in  fact,  home- 
sick as  death.  '  The  truth  is,  mamma  Kachael  spoils  me  so 
completely  with  her  great  love,  and — but,  oh  !  I  forgot  you 
can't  bear  mamma  Kachael.  Dear  me  !  I  am  always  getting 
into  scrapes.  Does  that  belong  to  the  Carset  blood,  I  won- 
der?" 

The  waiting-maid  stood  petrified  when  the  old  countess 
broke  into  a  soft,  pleasant  laugh,  at  what  she  deemed  the 
insolent  familiarity  of  this  speech.  "  Did  you  hear  that  ?  " 
she  exclaimed,  wiping  the  moisture  from  her  eyes,  and 
increasing  the  vibrations  of  her  head. 

"  Who  but  a  Carset  would  dare  ask  such  questions  ?  Gel?- 
ting  into  scrapes,  child  ;  why  there  never  was  a  family  so 
reckless  or  so  independent.  That  is,  I  speak  of  the  males, 
remember  !  the  ladies  of  the  house — but  you  will  see  in  the 
picture  gallery,  and  judge  for  yourself.  No  commonplace 
women  can  be  found  among  the  Carset  ladies.  Some  of 
them,  my  child,  have  intermarried  with  Royalty  itself. 
You  are  the  last  of  the  line,  Lady  Clara." 

Clara  turned  pale.  She  thought  of  Hepworth  Gloss,  and 
how  far  he  was  removed  from  royalty  ;  but  with  no  thought 
of  faithlessness  in  her  heart.  She  was  very  sure  that  the 
next  Lord  of  Houghton  would  wear  neither  crown  or  coro- 
net— but,  like  a  wise  girl,  she  sat  still  and  said  nothing. 

The  old  countess  was  very  feeble.  Notwithstanding  the 
excitement,  which  left  a  tremulous  pink  on  her  withered 
cheeks,  the  strength  began  to  fail  from  her  limbs.  Gather- 
ing up  her  feet  upon  the  couch,  she  closed  her  eyes. 

When  she  opened  them  again,  Lady  Clara  was  bending 
toward  her  with  a  look  of  tender  anxiet}-  that  went  to  the 
old  lady's  heart.  A  soft  smile  stole  over  her  lips,  and  she 
held  out  her  hand. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  my  child." 


THE     OLD     COUNTESS.  195 

Clara  stooped  down  and  kissed  that  delicate  mouth  with 
her  own  blooming  lips. 

"  Sleep  well,  grandmother,"  she  whispered ;  "  I  will  come 
back  again  by-and-by,  after  I  have  seen  the  other  ladies  in 
the  picture-gallery." 

Clara  picked  up  her  hat,  and  was  going  out  on  tip-toe, 
when  Judson  laid  a  long,  lean  hand  on  her  arm,  and 
addressed  her  in  one  of  those  shrill  whispers,  which  pene- 
trate more  surely  than  words. 

"  Don't  wear  that  thing  into  my  lady's  presence  again," 
she  said.  "  Did  you  see  her  eyes,  when  they  first  fell  upon 
it?" 

"What,  my  poor  little  hat?  Has  grandmamma  really 
taken  a  dislike  to  that  ?  I  am  so  sorry." 

The  old  countess  opened  her  eyes,  and  rose  on  one  elbow 
among  her  cushions. 

"  Let  the  child  alone,  Judson.  The  hat  is  well  enough, 
and  she  looked  very  pretty  in  it." 

"  Nobby,  isn't  it,  grandmamma  ? "  said  Clara,  tossing 
the  hat  to  her  head,  and  shaking  down  the  blue  streamers  ; 
"  and  I'm  so  fond  of  it." 

"Judson,"  said  the  old  countess,  "do  not  attempt  to 
judge  for  your  mistress  at  this  time  of  day.  No  one  but  a 
Carset  could  wear  a  thing  like  that,  without  looking  vulgar; 
but  you  saw  what  an  air  she  gave  it." 

Judson  was  astounded.  She  had  absolutely  trembled, 
when  that  round  hat  came  into  the  room,  in  defiance  of  the 
faint  protest  which  she  had  ventured  to  make. 

"  I  was  afraid,  my  lady,  that  a  dress  like  that  might  set 
you  against  the  young  lady." 

"  Set  me  against  my  own  grandchild,  and  she  so  unmis- 
takably a  Carset !  I  am  surprised,  Judson." 

"I  am  sure  there  -was  no  idea  in  my  mind  of  giving 
offense.     She  is  a  pretty  young  lady  enough." 
12 


196  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"Pretty!  Are  you  speaking  of  that  charming  young 
creature,  with  the  air  of  a  duchess  and  the  heart  of  a  child, 
only  to  say  that  she  is  pretty?" 

"  Did  I  say  pretty,  my  lady,  when  I  think  her  so  beauti- 
ful?" 

"All  the  more  beautiful,  Judson,  for  not  being  so  tall  as 
some  of  the  ladies  of  our  house.  She  owes  nothing  to  size. 
Perhaps  you  have  remarked,  Judson,  that  those  of  the 
purest  Carset  blood  have  never  been  large  women." 

A  sweet,  complacent  smile  quivered  around  those  old  lips, 
as  the  countess  settled  back  among  her  cushions.  She,  a 
petite  creature,  had  Carset  blood  in  her  veins  from  both 
parents,  and  in  her  youth  she  had  been  distinguished 
among  the  most  beautiful  women  of  England.  She  was 
thinking  of  those  days,  when  those  withered  eyelids  closed 
again,  and  they  followed  her  softly  into  her  sleep,  which 
the  grim  maid  watched  with  the  faithfulness  of  a  slave. 

Meantime  Clara  went  into  the  long  picture  gallery,  and 
there  among  a  crowd  of  statues,  and  deeply-toned  pictures 
by  the  old  masters,  made  the  acquaintance  of  her  stately 
ancestors,  and  of  the  ladies  who  had  one  and  all  been  peer- 
esses in  their  own  right — an  access  of  rank,  prized  almost 
like  a  heritage  of  royalty  by  the  old  lady  in  the  tower- 
chamber. 

No  one  had  gone  with  the  young  heiress  into  the  gallery, 
for,  with  her  childish  wilfulness,  she  had  preferred  to  go 
alone,  and  single  out  the  Carset  ladies  by  their  resemblance 
to  the  old  countess. 

All  at  once  she  stopped  before  the  picture  of  a  lady, 
whose  face  struck  her  with  a  sudden  sense  of  recognition. 
She  looked  at  it  earnestly  —  the  golden  brown  hair,  the 
downcast  eyes,  the  flowing  white  dress.  Across  the  mind 
of  that  wondering  girl,  came  the  shadow  of  another  woman 


EXPLANATIONS     AND     CONCESSIONS.      197 

upon  a  white  bed,  with  hair  and  eyes  like  those ;  but  wide 
open,  and  to  her  lips  came  two  words,  "  My  Mother !" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


EXPLANATIONS    AND    CONCESSIONS. 

IT  often  happens  that  a  proud,  austere  person,  so  ground- 
ed in  opinions  and  prejudices  as  to  be  considered  above  and 
beyond  ordinary  influences,  will  all  at  once,  give  heart  and 
reason  up  to  passionate  or  capricious  fondness  for  some 
individual  —  often  a  very  child  —  and  yield  everything  to 
persuasion  when  reason  is  utterly  rejected. 

Indeed,  few  people  like  to  be  convinced;  but  the  strongest 
mind  ever  bestowed  on  man  or  woman  -finds  something 
gratifying  to  self-love  in  the  persuasive  enticements  of 
affection. 

This  singular  moral  phenomenon  astonished  the  neigh- 
bors and  household  of  Lady  Carset  when  she  gave  herself 
up,  with  the  abandon  of  a  child,  to  the  caressing  young 
creature,  who  had,  it  seemed,  appeared  in  her  home  to  win 
her  back  from  the  very  brink  of  the  grave,  and  make  the 
sunset  of  her  long  life  brighter  with  love  than  the  dawn 
had  been. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  young  girl  which  did  not  seem 
beautiful  to  the  old  relative.  Her  originality,  which  made 
the  well-trained  servants  stare,  seemed  the  perfection  of 
piquant  grace  to  one  whose  fastidious  tastes  had  been  an 
example  to  the  whole  neighborhood.  In  her  estimation 
Lady  Clara  could  do  nothing  which  was  not  in  itself  loveli- 
est and  best.  The  old  lady  had  been  so  long  without  an 


198  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

object  of  affection,  that  her  love  of  this  girl  became  almost  a 
monomania. 

"I  have  an  atonement  to  make,"  she  would  say  to  herself 
in  excuse  for  this  extraordinary  and  most  pleasant  subjuga- 
tion ;  "  for  years  and  years  I  have  driven  this  young  crea- 
ture from  me  because  of  what,  I  am  almost  convinced,  were 
unfounded  suspicions  against  her  father  and  that  woman. 
It  is  but  just  that  I  should  accept  my  grandchild  with  gen- 
erous confidence ;  and  she  deserves  it — she  deserves  it." 

After  reasoning  in  this  fashion  awhile  the  repentant  old 
lady  would  rack  her  brain  for  some  new  device  by  which 
this  bright  creature,  who  had  come  like  a  sunbeam  into  her 
house,  might  be  persuaded  never  to  leave  it  again.  It  was 
not  altogether  the  selfishness  of  affection  that  actuated  this 
honorable  woman.  It  was  hard  to  believe  that  a  Carset 
could  have  acted  unjustly,  or  even  be  mistaken ;  but,  once 
convinced  of  that,  her  very  pride  insisted  on  a  generous 
atonement.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  been  so  humiliated 
as  when  the  sight  of  those  diamonds  convinced  her  of  the 
cruel  charge  which  she  had  maintained  for  years  against  a 
person  innocent  of  the  offence  imputed  to  her.  She  remem- 
bered, with  compunction,  how  much  harm  she  had  done 
this  woman,  whose  greatest  fault  now  seemed  to  be  that 
Lord  Hope  had  married  her. 

Her  own  example  had  sufficed  to  exclude  Lady  Hope 
from  the  society  to  which  her  husband's  rank  entitled  her, 
and  her  open  expressions  of  dislike  had  cast  a  ban  upon  the 
stepmother,  which  had,  to  an  extent,  reacted  on  her  own 
grandchild. 

These  thoughts  troubled  the  proud  old  peeress  a  long 
time  before  she  gave  them  expression ;  but,  one  day,  Clara 
sat  by  her,  looking  a  little  sad,  for,  now  that  the  excitement 
of  her  first  coming  was  over,  she  began  to  think  of  Hep- 
worth  Gloss — to  wonder  where  he  was,  and  yearn  for  some 


EXPLANATIONS     AND     CONCESSIONS.      199 

news  of  him  to  a  degree  that  clouded  her  whole  bright  being 
like  a  feeling  of  homesickness. 

"Poor  child!"  thought  the  old  lady,  while  her  soft, 
brown  eyes  dwelt  upon  that  downcast  face,  as  it  bent  over  a 
piece  of  embroidery  in  which  a  cactus-flower  formed  the 
chief  central  glory;  "how  weary  and  troubled  she  looks! 
No  wonder,  poor  thing  !  half  her  time  is  spent  here  with  a 
stupid  old  woman,  shut  up  so  long  from  the  world  that  she 
is  but  dull  company  for  any  one.  I  wonder  if  the  thing 
which  is  upon  my  mind  would  really  make  her  happy  ?  " 

"Clara." 

The  girl  started.  She  had  been  so  lost  in  thought  that 
those  bright  eyes  had  been  watching  her  some  minutes, 
while  she  unconsciously  pursued  her  work,  and  indulged  in 
a  reverie  which  was  shadowed  upon  her  features. 

"  Clara,  you  have  not  told  me  much  about  your  step- 
mother." 

"But  I  think  of  her;  I  was  thinking  of  her  then.  In- 
deed, indeed,  grandmamma,  I  always  must  love  mamma 
Rachael,  for  she  has  been  everything  that  is  good  and  kind 
to  me — I  only  wish  you  could  understand  how  kind.  If  I 
know  anything  it  is  because  she  taught  me." 

"Among  other  things,  perhaps  she  taught  you  to  hate 
that  cruel  old  Lady  Carset,"  said  the  countess,  a  little  sus- 
piciously. 

"No,  grandmamma,  no.  She  never  said  anything  to 
make  me  dislike  you ;  but  I  did — it  was  terribly  wicked ; 
but  how  could  I  help  it,  loving  her  so,  and  knowing  that  it 
was  you  that  stood  in  the  way  of  all  she  most  desired  in 
life?  Remember,  grandmamma,  I  had  never  seen  yon,  and 
I  loved  her  dearly.  It  was  hard  to  see  her  overlooked  and 
put  down  by  people  who  were  not  fit  to  buckle  her  shoes,  all 
because  you  would  not  like  her." 


200  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  And  you  will  always  love  her  better  than  the  cruel  old 
lady  ?  » 

"  Cruel !  How  can  you  ?  There  never  was  a  sweeter, 
kinder,  or  more  lovely  old  darling  in  the  world  than  you 
are  !  but  then  she  is  good,  too,  and  so  unhappy  at  times,  it 
almost  breaks  my  heart  to  look  in  her  face." 

"  And  you  think  I  have  made  her  so  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  might  make  her  very  happy,  if  you  only 
would,  grandmamma." 

"  Would  that  make  you  happy,  little  one  ?  " 

The  old  lady  reached  out  her  little,  withered  hand,  and 
patted  Clara's  fingers,  as  they  paused  in  her  work,  while  she 
spoke.  The  girl's  face  brightened.  She  seized  the  little 
hand  between  her  rosy  palms,  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  grandmamma  !  can  you  mean  it?  " 

"  I  always  mean  to  be  just,  Clara." 

"  Then  you  will  be  very,  very  kind  to  her  ?  " 

"  Does  your  father  love  this  woman  ?  " 

"Lovelier?  Oh,  yes !  but  this  thing  has  come  a  little 
between  them.  She  has  grown  shy  of  going  out,  while  he 
must  be  in  the  world ;  and  all  her  life  seems  to  vanish  when 
he  is  away.  Sometimes  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  think 
how  much  she  loves  him." 

"  But  he  loves  you  ?  " 

"Almost  as  much  as  mamma  Eachael  does.  He  was 
never  cross  to  me  but  once." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

Clara  turned  pale,  and  took  up  her  needle. 

"  I  would  rather  not  talk  about  that  just  now.  You 
might  be  more  angry  than  my  father  was." 

"  It  would  be  very  difficult  for  me  to  get  angry  with  you, 
little  one." 

"  But  you  would,  if  I  were  to  be  very  obstinate,  and  insist 


EXPLANATIONS     AND     CONCESSIONS.      201 

on  having  my  own  way  about — about  something — that — 
that—" 

The  old  lady's  face  grew  very  serious.  She  understood 
these  signs,  and  they  troubled  her ;  but  she  was  feeble,  and 
shrank  from  any  knowledge  that  would  bring  excitement 
with  it. 

"  Some  day  we  will  talk  of  all  that,"  she  said,  with  a 
little  weary  closing  of  the  eyes. 

Clara  drew  a  deep  breath.  See  had  been  on  the  verge  of 
making  a  confidante  of  the  old  lady,  and  felt  a  sense  of 
relief  when  the"  subject  was  thus  evaded. 

The  countess  opened  her  eyes  again. 

"  Clara,"  she  said,"  bring  my  writing-table  here.  We  will 
not  trouble  ourselves  to  ring  for  Judson." 

Clara  dropped  her  embroidery,  and  brought  the  sofa-table, 
with  all  its  exquisite  appointments  for  writing.  The  old  lady 
sat  upright  on  her  couch,  took  the  pen,  and  began  to  write 
on  the  creamy  note-paper  her  grandchild  had  placed  before 
her.  Clara  watched  that  slender  hand  as  it  glided  across 
the  paper,  leaving  delicate,  upright  letters  perfect  as  an  en- 
graving, as  it  moved.  When  the  paper  was  covered,  she 
folded  the  missive  with  dainty  precision,  selected  an  enve- 
lope, on  which  her  coronet  was  entangled  in  a  monogram, 
and  was  about  to  seal  it  with  a  ring,  which  she  took  from 
her  finger ;  but  recollecting  herself,  she  drew  the  letter  out, 
and  handed  it  to  Clara,  with  a  smile  that  kindled  her 
whole  face. 

Clara  read  the  letter,  threw  her  arms  around  the  old  lady, 
and  covered  her  faces  with  kisses. 

"  Oh,  grandmamma,  you  are  too  good  !  Do  you — do  you 
really  mean  it?  Ah,  this  is  happiness!" 

"  You  shall  help  me  make  out  the  invitations.  There 
was  a  time. when  PIqughton  had  no  empty  chambers.  It 
will  go  hard,  my  dear,  if  we  cannot  find  entertainment  for 


202  THE    OLD     COUNTESS. 

your  father  and  the  lady  he  has  married.  On  that  day, 
Clara,  I  will  present  you  to  the  world  as  my  grandchild  and 
heiress." 

"  Not  yet !  oh,  not  yet !  Wait  till  you  know  more  of 
me." 

"Hush  !  hush  !  This  is  not  my  only  object.  If  I  have 
wronged  your  stepmother,  or  neglected  your  father,  the 
whole  country  shall  see  that  a  Carset  knows  how  to  make 
reparation.  Lady  Hope,  too,  shall  be  presented  to  my 
friends  as  an  honored  guest.  This  entertainment  will  be  my 
last,  but  they  shall  find  that  the  old  countess  knows  how  to 
receive  her  guests." 

"  Grandmother,  you  are  an — an — .  You  are  just  the 
sweetest  old  lady  that  ever  drew  breath  !  If  you  were  to 
live  a  thousand  years,  I  should  love  you  better  and  better 
every  day !  To  see  you  and  Lady  Hope  together  will  be 
splendid !  And  they  are  to  stay  at  Houghton  a  month. 
By  that  time  you  will  love  each  other  dearly." 

Clara  took  up  her  work  again,  but  the  needle  flashed  like 
a  thread  of  lightning  in  her  unsteady  fingers.  She  could 
not  work  after  this  glorious  news. 

The  old  lady  smiled  blandly,  and  sank  down  among  her 
cushions,  exhausted. 

"  Go  out  and  take  a  walk  in  the  park,"  she  said,  observ- 
ing that  Clara  was  fluttering  over  her  embroidery  like  a 
bird  in  its  cage.  "  It  will  do  you  good,  and  I  will  try  to 
sleep  a  little." 


DOWN     BY     THE     BROOK.  203 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

DOWN  BY  THE  BROOK  AMONG  THE  FERNS. 

CLARA  put  on  her  hat  and  wandered  off  into  the  park,  as 
happy  as  a  bird. 

She  had  found  the  dearest  old  fairy  godmother.  She  saw 
a  glorious  light  breaking  in  upon  the  life  of  her  stepmother, 
and  out  of  all  this  generous  conduct  in  the  old  countess 
sprang  a  vague  hope  that  she  might  yet  be  won  to  sanction 
her  marriage  with  the  man  of  her  choice. 

She  took  no  heed  of  the  way,  but  wandered  on,  treading 
the  earth  like  a  sylph,  and  breaking  into  little  snatches  of 
song  whenever  the  birds  in  the  branches  put  her  in  mind  of 
it.  She  was  descending  into  a  little,  ferny  hollow,  with  a 
brook  creeping  along  the  bottom,  along  which  a  narrow  foot- 
path ran,  when  the  crackle  of  a  broken  branch,  and  the  quick 
tread  of  a  foot,  made  her  pause  and  look  at  the  opposite 
bank,  down  which  a  young  man  was  coming,  with  more 
swiftness  than  he  seemed  to  desire,  for  he  only  saved  him- 
self from  a  plunge  in  the  brook  by  leaping  over  it,  with  a 
bound  that  brought  him  to  Clara's  side.  It  was  Lord 
Hilton. 

"Forgive  me,  if  I  came  near  running  you  down,"  he  said, 
with  laughter  in  his  eyes,  and  taking  off  his  hat;  "it  was 
neck  or  nothing  with  me,  after  I  once  got  one  downward 
plunge.  I  inquired  for  you  at  the  castle,  and  they  told  me 
that  you  had  just  gone  out  of  sight  in  this  direction,  so  I 
followed  and  am  here." 

Clara  held  out  her  hand,  with  the  sweet,  joyous  laugh  of 
a  pleased  child.  She  was  very  happy,  just  then,  and  he  saw 
it  in  her  eyes. 


204  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"But  you  have  been  long  in  coming,"  she  said.  "I  told 
grandmamma  about  our  journey  together,  and  she  has  been 
expecting  you  at  Houghton  every  day." 

"And  you?" 

"  Of  course,  I  have  been  dreadfully  disappointed.  Are 
you  aware  that  it  is  more  than  a  fortnight  since  you  bought 
those  peaches  for  me  ?  " 

"  But  you  will  approve  my  reasons  for  keeping  away, 
when  I  tell  you  what  they  are." 

"  Perhaps — I  doubt  it ;  but  tell  me." 

"  You  will  not  be  angry  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Not  if  I  tell  you  the  plain  truth  like  an  honest  man  ?  " 

"I  love  the  truth.     Why  should  it  offend  me  ?  " 

"  Lady  Clara,  I  have  almost  resolved  to  make  a  confi- 
dante of  you." 

Clara  brushed  some  fallen  leaves  from  a  rock,  near  which 
they  were  standing,  and  sat  down,  motioning  him  to  take 
the  vacant  place  by  her  side. 

"  There — now  let  us  begin." 

"  Do  you  guess  why  I  did  not  come  before,  Lady  Clara  ?  " 

"  No — I  have  not  the  least  idea.  Perhaps  you  did  not 
like  me,  or  were  shocked  with  my  hat ;  poor  thing,  it  is  get- 
ting awfully  shabby." 

«  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  " 

"Of  course;  why  not?" 

"  Because  the  old  gentleman  over  yonder  and  my  lady  at 
Houghton,  had  set  their  hearts  upon  it." 

"  Set  their  hearts  upon  it.     How  ?  " 

"  They  have  decreed  that  I  shall  fall  in  love  with  you, 
and  you  with  me,  at  first  sight." 

Clara  stared  at  him  a  moment,  with  her  widening  blue 
eyes,  and  then  broke  into  a  laugh  that  set  all  the  birds 
about  her  to  singing  in  a  joyous  chorus. 


DOWN     BY     THE     BBOOK.  205 

" What,  you  and  I?" 

"Exactly." 

"But  you  have  more  sense.  You  could  not  be  induced 
to  oblige  them.  I  feel  quite  sure." 

"  But  why,  pray  ?     Am  I  so  very  stupid  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  you  are  so  very  kind,  and  would  not  do  any- 
thing so  cruel." 

Lord  Hilton  laughed;  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  But  why  would  it  be  cruel  ?  " 

"  Because  —  because  it  would  get  me  into  trouble. 
Grandmamma  is  a  lovely  old  angel,  and  to  oblige  her  I 
would  fall  in  love  with  fifty  men  if  it  were  possible,  espe- 
cially after  what  she  has  done  to-day:  but  it  is  not  pos- 
sible." 

"And  the  old  gentleman  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
valley  is  good  as  gold,  and  I  should  like  to  oblige  him ;  and 
sometimes  I  feel  as  if  it  could  be  done,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, but  for  one  thing." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  Lady  Clara,  if  I  had  not  been  fatally  iu  love  already,  I 
should  by  this  time  have  adored  you." 

The  color  came  and  went  in  the  girl's  face.  She  tore  a 
handful  of  ferns  from  the  rock,  and  dropped  them  into  the 
water  at  her  feet ;  then  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  young 
man's  face,  with  the  innocent  confidence  of  a  child.  Her 
voice  was  low  and  timid  as  she  spoke  again ;  but  the  ring 
of  modest  truth  was  there. 

"Lord  Hilton,  I  am  very  young;  but  in  what  you  have 
said,  I  can  see  that  you  and  I  ought  to  understand  each 
other.  You  love  another  person — I,  too,  am  beloved." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  swept  the  young  man's  fea- 
tures. He  had  not  wished  this  fair  girl  to  care  for  him, 
yet  the  thought  that  it  was  impossible  brought  a  little 
annoyance  with  it. 


206  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"And  yourself?" 

"  I  have  permitted  a  man  to  say  he  loved  me,  and  did 
not  rebuke  him ;  because  [every  word  he  spoke  made  my 
heart  leap." 

"But  will  the  old  countess  consent?" 

"  I  thought  so — I  hoped  so,  till  you  startled  me  with  this 
idea  about  yourself.  Oh  !  be  firm,  be  firm  in  hating  me. 
Don't  leave  the  whole  battle  to  a  poor  little  girl." 

"Perhaps  I  shall  not  feel  all  your  earnestness,  for  there 
is  no  hope  in  the  future  for  me,  with  or  without  consent. 
I  can  never  turn  back  to  the  past,  though  I  am  not  villain, 
enough  to  lay  a  heart  which  contains  the  image  of 
another  at  any  woman's  feet,  without  giving  her  a  full 
knowledge  of  that  which  has  gone  before.  The  love  which 
I  confess  to  you,  Lady  Clara,  was  put  resolutely  behind  me 
before  we  met." 

Quick  as  thought  a  suspicion  flashed  through  the  girl's 
brain.  She  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  the  handsome  head 
and  face  of  the  young  man,  and  examined  his  features 
keenly.  His  hat  was  off;  he  was  bending  earnestly  toward 
her. 

"  Lord  Hilton,  you  sat  in  a  box  in  the  opera  next  to  us 
on  the  night  when  that  young  American  singer  broke  down. 
I  remember  your  head  now.  You  were  leaning  from  the 
box  when  she  fainted ;  her  eyes  were  turned  upon  you  as 
she  fell.  She  is  the  woman  you  love." 

"  Say  whom  I  loved,  and  Heaven  knows  I  did  love  her ; 
but  she  fled  from  me  without  a  word,  to  expose  herself  upon 
that  stage.  I  thought  her  the  daughter  of  a  respectable 
man,  at  least ;  when  I  am  told  in  every  club-house,  she  is 
the  nameless  child  of  that  woman,  Olympia.  I  would  not 
believe  it,  till  the  actress  confirmed  the  story  with  her  own 
lips ;  then  I  learned  that  her  home  was  with  this  woman, 
and  that  she,  a  creature  I  had  believed  innocent  as  the  wild 


DOWN     BY     THE     BROOK.  207 

blossoms,  had  used  her  glorious  voice  for  the  entertainment 
of  her  mother's  Sunday  evening  parties." 

Lady  Clara  grew  pale,  and  her  eyes  began  to  flash. 

"You  are  doing  great  wrong  to  a  noble  and  good  young 
lady,"  she  said,  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  from  which  all 
laughter  had  gone  out.  "  You  are  unjust,  cruel— wickedly 
cruel — both  to  yourself  and  her.  I  have  no  patience  with 
you!" 

"  Do  you  know  Caroline,  then  ?     But  that  is  impossible." 

"Impossible — what?  That  I  should  know  the  daughter 
of  Olympia?  But  I  do  know  her.  There  was  a  time,  I 
honestly  believe,  when  we  were  children  together,  cared  for 
by  the  same  nurse.  This  I  can  assure  you,  Lord  Hilton  : 
she  was  not  brought  up  by  the  actress ;  never  saw  her,  in 
truth,  until  she  was  over  sixteen  years  old,  when  the 
woman,  hearing  of  her  genius  and  beauty,  claimed  her  as  a 
chattel  rather  than  a  child." 

"Are  you  sure  of  this,  Lady  Clara?"  inquired  the 
young  man,  greatly  disturbed. 

"  I  know  it.  The  poor  young  lady,  brought  up  with 
such  delicate  care,  educated  as  if  she  were  one  day  to  be- 
come a  peeress  of  the  land,  took  a  terrible  dislike  to  the 
stage,  and,  so  long  as  she  dared,  protested  against  the  life  Jthat 
ambitious  actress  had  marked  out  for  her.  That  night  you 
saw  her  she  was  forced  upon  the  stage  after  praying  upon 
her  knees  to  be  spared.  Her  acting,  from  the  first,  was 
desperation.  She  saw  you,  and  it  became  despair;  and  you 
could  doubt  her — you  could  leave  her.  Lord  Hilton,  I  hate 
you ! " 

"  I  begin  to  hate  myself,"  said  the  young  man  in  a  low- 
voice;  but  even  now,  what  can  I  do  ?  What  power  have  I 
to  wrest  her  from  the  influence  of  that  woman?" 

"  What  porver  ?  The  power  of  honest  and  generous  love. 
Ask  her  to  marry  you." 


208  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Lord  Hilton  answered  with  a  faint,  bitter  laugh. 

"Ask  her  to  marry  me,  and,  with  that  act,  proclaim  my- 
self a  beggar !  I  tell  you,  Lady  Clara,  there  is  not  upon  this 
earth  a  creature  so  dependent  as  a  nobleman  with  nothing 
but  expectations.  Were  I  to  follow  your  advice  the  doors 
of  my  home  would  be  closed  against  me.  I  should  have  a 
title,  by  courtesy,  to  offer  my  wife,  and  nothing  more.  She 
would,  perhaps,  be  compelled  to  go  on  the  stage  to  support 
me — a  poor  substitute  for  these  two  vast  estates  which  these 
old  people  hope  to  unite  in  us." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

HOW  LADY  CLARA  GOT  HER  OWN  WAY. 

LADY  CLARA  turned  on  the  young  nobleman  with  glow- 
ing anger. 

"Lord  Hilton,"  she  said,  "  it  is  the  land  they  are  think- 
ing of;  but  an  earthquake  may  swallow  it  before  I  will  sell 
a  corner  of  my  heart  at  their  price.  I  am  only  a  girl,  Lord 
Hilton,  and,  perhaps,  this  ancestral  grandeur  seems  less  to 
me  on  that  account ;  but  the  noblest  possession  that  can  be 
given  to  me  is  liberty  —  liberty  of  heart,  limb  and  con- 
science —  liberty  to  love  and  hate  —  though  I  do  not  hate 
any  one  very  much  —  but  to  love  that  which  is  splendid 
and  good  without  regard  to  anj'thing  else.  The  grandest 
thing  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  Lord  Hilton,  is  to  own 
oneself.  If  I  were  a  man  no  one  should  own  me  but  the 
woman  I  loved." 

Was  the  girl  inspired  ?  You  would  have  thought  so 
from  the  sparkle  that  came  into  her  eyes,  like  sunshine 


HOW    LADY    CLARA    GOT    HER    WAY.        269 

striking  the  dew  in  a  violet  —  from  the  quick,  generous 
curve  of  her  lips,  and  the  flush  of  color,  that  rushed  over 
her  face. 

Lord  Hilton  looked  at  her  with  such  admiration  as  would, 
perhaps,  have  made  obedience  to  the  wishes  of  his  family 
an  easier  thing  than  he  dreamed  of;  but  he  knew  some- 
thing of  the  world,  and  had,  more  than  once,  searched 
the  female  hearts  that  came  in  his  way,  for  the  gratification 
of  vanity  alone.  He  read  the  one  before  him  on  the 
instant. 

"  The  man  you  speak  of  is  without  these  advantages,"  he 
said.  "  I  understand  —  they  are  a  wall  between  you  and 
him." 

"  No.  This  morning  my  grandmother  told  me  that  I 
was  to  be  her  heiress ;  but  I  entreated  her  to  take  time. 
Before  she  decides,  I  wish  her  to  judge  of  this  man  as  he 
is,  without  prejudice  or  favor.  Then  she  shall  know  all, 
and  if  she  is  willing  to  endow  us  with  her  wealth,  there 
never  was  so  grateful  a  girl  as  I  shall  be  ;  but,  if  not,  I  will 
fall  upon  my  knees,  kiss  her  dear  old  hand,  thank  her  for 
what  she  has  done,  and  go  away  to  America,  where  a 
man's  talents  and  energies  can  work  out  something  that 
will  answer  very  well  for  a  patent  of  nobility." 

"And  you  will  carry  this  out  ?  give  up  the  title  ?  " 

"  The  title !  Ah,  that  may  be  of  value  in  America," 
answered  Clara,  with  a  laugh  full  of  good-natured  scorn  ; 
"  those  things,  they  tell  me,  are  at  a  premium  out  yonder." 

"Brave  girl !     You  shame  me  by  this  generous  energy." 

"Shame  you?  not  at  all;  only  I  happen  to  know  that 
there  is  something  worth  living  for  besides  the  things 
we  hold  so  precious.  A  .man,  brave  enough  to  work  out  his 
own  career,  has  taught  me  that  real  greatness  is  not  always 
hereditary.  Ah  !  if  you  could  only  think  so,  too,  Lord  Hil- 


210  THE     OLD     COUNTERS. 

ton,  you  would  understand  that  there  is  nothing  on  earth  so 
sweet  as  the  love  for  which  we  make  sacrifices." 

"  What  a  strange  girl  you  are,  Lady  Clara!  Up  to  this 
time  you  have  seemed  to  me  only  a  very  pretty  and  very 
capricious  child — a  charming  child,  truly,  but — " 

"  There  it  is  again,"  cried  the  girl  falling  back  into  her 
natural  manner ;  "  everybody  will  insist  on  treating  me  like 
a  child.  Oh  !  how  I  wish  1  was  a  little  taller,  like — like 
Caroline  ! " 

Lord  Hilton  started,  and  a  flood  of  recollections  came 
back  upon  him  —  that  soft  Italian  sky,  a  flight  of  vine- 
draped  terraces,  and,  on  the  steps,  that  tall,  beautiful  girl 
watching  for  him.  In  this  picture  he  forgot  Olympia  and 
everything  that  had  repulsed  him. 

"  I  shall  never  think  of  you  as  a  child  again,  but  as  her 
friend — her  earnest,  kind,  noble  friend !  " 

"And  so  I  am.     Oh  !  if  I  were  a  man,  and  loved  her — " 

"Well,  what  would  you  do  in  my  place,  supposing  your- 
self a  man,  Lady  Clara  ?  " 

"  This  is  what  I  would  do :  The  old  gentleman  over 
yonder  has  a  generous  heart,  I  dare  say.  I  would  first 
make  my  peace  with  that  noble  girl.  It  would  not  be  easy, 
I  can  tell  you,  for  she  is  proud  as  an  empress ;  but  she 
would  be  forgiving  in  the  end,  and  for  that  I  should  adore 
her.  Then  I  would  take  her  by  the  hand,  lead  her  up  to 
that  kind  old  nobleman  over  yonder — for  I  dare  say,  he  is 
like  my  blessed  grandmother,  proud  as  Lucifer  and  kind  as 
an  angel  —  and  I  would  just  tell  him  the  truth,  lay  the 
whole  case  before  him,  and  either  take  his  blessing  on  two 
bowed  heads,  or  throw  down  my  title,  gather  up  all  that 
honorably  belonged  to  me,  and  carry  my  youth,  my  knowl- 
edge, and  my  energies  into  a  country  where  no  man  would 
question  whether  my  wife  had  Olympia's  blood  in  her  veins 
or  not.  This  is  what  I  would  do,  Lord  Hilton." 


HOW    LADY    CLARA    GOT    HER    WAY.         211 

"  Lady  Clara,  I  thank  you." 

Lord  Hilton  reached  out  his  hand,  smiling,  but  there  was 
moisture  in  his  eyes. 

"And  you  will  do  it  ?  " 

"  First,  Lady  Clara,  I  must  have  her  forgiveness  for 
doubting  her — for  being  a  coward.  Where  is  she  now  ? 
Can  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  111,  very  ill,  battling  breathlessly  with  that  woman, 
who  still  persists  on  her  reappearance.  You  can  save  her 
from  it.  Will  you  ?  " 

"No  wonder  you  ask  the  question,  Lady  Clara,  I  have 
not  deserved  great  confidence.  But  one  thing;  these  are 
strange  confessions  that  we  have  made  to  each  other;  let 
them  rest  inviolate  between  us.  We  shall  be  friends.  Let 
the  world  think  us  more,  if  it  likes." 

"With  all  my  heart.  And  now,  good-by.  I  am  going 
back  to  the  castle." 

When  Clara  reached  the  castle  she  found  a  letter  waiting 
for  her.  If  was  from  Margaret,  who  was  still  in  London,  at 
Olympia's  house.  , 

Clara  read  this  letter  with  a  very  thoughtful  face,  and 
went  at  once  to  Lady  Carset's  room,  with  the  letter  in  her 
pocket  and  painful  anxiety  in  her  heart. 

Lady  Carset  had  come  out  of  her  sleep,  wonderfully 
refreshed  and  cheerful. 

The  effort  which  she  had  so  generously  made  to  make 
atonement  for  what  she  considered  the  one  mistake  of  her 
life,  gave  to  her  own  heart  a  feeling  of  exquisite  rest.  The 
company  of  her  grandchild  also  had  let  a  whole  burst  of 
sunshine  into  that  princely  old  castle,  and  its  mistress 
seemed  to  have  grown. -young  in  its  warmth  and  brightness. 
She  had  been  thinking  of  the  girl  ever  since  the  sleep  left 
her  eyelids,  and  now,  when  she  came  in,  with  her  sweet  face 
13 


212  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

clouded,  the  idea  that  had  been  floating  in  her  brain  took 
form. 

"  You  seem  troubled,  Clara,"  she  said.  "  Did  the  great, 
wandering  old  park  frighten  you  with  its  loneliness  ?  Sit 
down,  darling,  and  we  will  talk  of  something  I  have  just 
been  thinking  of." 

Clara  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  couch,  and  taking  the 
small  feet  of  her  grandmother  into  her  lap,  began  to  smooth 
and  caress  them  with  her  hand. 

"I  am  an  old,  old  woman,  my  darling,  and  not  over 
strong,  so  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  make  a  companion  to 
you." 

"  Oh,  but  I  love  you  so  much  ! " 

"  I  know,  dear ;  but  would  you  not  like  a  companion  of 
your  own  age — some  nice  young  lady,  who  could  go  with 
you  into  the  park,  share  the  pretty  phaeton,  and  help  drive 
the  ponies  I  have  orderd  for  you,  when  I  am  taking  my  rest 
here?" 

"  Oh,  grandmamma,  who  told  you  what  was  in  my  mind  ? 
how  could  you  have  guessed  it  ?  Can  I — may  I  ?  Grand- 
mamma, 1  know  the  very  person  ! " 

"  She  must  be  well-educated  and  well-bred." 

"  She  is  a  lady  about  my  age,  but  handsomer." 

"I  will  not  believe  that,  Clara,"  said  the  old  lady,  smil- 
ing. 

"  But  she  is — taller,  more  queenly.  You  will  like  her  so 
much !  Besides,  she  is  in  such  trouble.  1  will  tell  you  all 
about  it,  grandmamma." 

Then  Lady  Clara  told  Caroline's  story,  how  she  had  been 
brought  up  by  a  good  man,  believing  herself  his  child, 
until  he  and  his  good  wife  died,  and,  just  as  she  grew  into 
womanhood  was  claimed  by  the  actress  Olympia,  who  was 
determined  to  force  her  upon  the  stage,  from  which  she 
shrank  with  a  loathing  that  had  made  her  ill.  Lady  Clara 


HOW    LADY    CLARA    GOT    HER    WAY.        213 

did  not  mention  the  name  of  Daniel  Yates,  because  it  had 
made  no  impression  upon  her,  if,  indeed,  she  had  heard  it} 
but  she  succeeded  in  interesting  the  old  countess,  and  it  was 
decided  that  Caroline  and  the  servant  who  had  clung  to  her 
so  faithfully  should  b.e  sent  for. 

When  Lady  Clara  left  her  grandmother's  room,  the  face 
that  had  been  so  clouded  was  radiant,  for,  after  having  all 
her  anxieties  swept  away,  as  it  seemed  by  a  miracle,  she  had 
ventured  upon  a  positive  request,  which  made  her  breath 
come  short  as  she  made' it. 

With  some  adroitness,  and  a  talent  that  would  have  made 
her  fortune  on  the  stage,  she  brought  the  subject  round  to 
Lady  Hope,  and  from  her  to  the  fact  that  she  had  an  only 
brother,  who  had  travelled  in  foreign  parts  for  years,  but 
had  just  come  back  to  England,  and  had  been  at  Oakhurst. 

The  old  lady  listened  with  gentle  attention,  but  did  not 
divine  Clara's  wishes  by  intuition  as  she  had  before. 

"  He  is  mamma  Rachael's  only  relative,  and  she  loves 
him  dearly,"  said  Clara.  "I  think  she  would  always  like  to 
have  him  with  her." 

Even  this  gentle  hint  did  not  arouse  the  old  lady,  who  was 
falling  back  into  a  pleasant  lethargy,  so  common  to  aged 
persons. 

"You  would  like  him  yourself,  grandmamma,"  continued 
Clara,  getting  anxious ;  "  he  has  seen  so  much,  and  talks  so 
well ;  besides,  he  knows  everything  about  horses,  and  taught 
me  so  man}'  things  about  managing  them." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Lady  Carset,  arousing  herself,  for  she 
had  been  a  splendid  horsewoman  in  her  time.  "  It  would 
be  a  great  comfort  if  we  had  some  one  besides  the  groom  to 
advise  with  about  the  ponies.  Then,  we  must  have  a  couple 
of  saddle  horses  for  you  and  the  American  young  lady. 
Would  this  young  gentleman —  Is  he  young,  Clara?" 

"  Not  very,"  answered  Clara,  blushing  quietly,  and  droop- 


214  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

ing  her  head  to  hide  the  fact,  as  the  old  lady  took  up  her 
sentence  again. 

"  I  suppose  not.  So,  as  your  stepmother  might  be  pleased, 
what  objection  would  there  be  to  inviting  this  gentleman 
to  the  castle  ?  When  Lady  Hope  comes,  I  would  like  to 
have  as  many  of  her  friends  here  as  possible.  Houghton 
will  seem  more  like  home  to  her.  As  for  you,  Clara,  it  will 
always  be  your  home,  so  we  must  try  and  make  it  pleasant. 
Write  the  letter  for  me,  child,  and  invite  the  gentleman 
here." 

It  was  this  conversation  that  sent  Lady  Clara  out  of  her 
grandmother's  room  with  that  radiant  face. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    QUARREL   AND    THE   LETTER. 

"  TAKE  your  choice,  young  lady,  take  your  choice  !  Either 
consent  to  have  your  name  on  the  bills  for  Monday  night, 
or  leave  my  house,  bag  and  baggage,  one  and  all  of  you ! 
Either  obey  me  or  go !  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole 
affair." 

Here  Olympia  rubbed  one  soft  white  hand  over  the  other, 
and  shook  them  apart,  as  if  she  were  already  washing  off 
the  annoyance  that  proud  girl  had  given  her. 

Caroline  was  deathly  pale.  She  had  grown  thin  and  lan- 
guid with  the  illness  that  still  hung  about  her.  Around 
her  enlarged  eyes  lay  faint,  purplish  shadows,  that  deepened 
their  sad  expression  ;  but,  with  all  her  weakness,  a  look  of 
settled  resolution  lay  on  her  face. 

"  Be  it  so,  theu  !  "  she  said,  with  pathetic  sadness.  "  If 
my  own  mother-^" 


THE     QUARREL     AND     THE     LETTER.      215 

<l  Mother  ?  Hush  that !  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it  I 
Brown  may  talk,  and  swear  that  he  never  lost  sight  of  you, 
but  he  needn't  tell  me!  My  daughter!  why  don't  you 
glory  in  the  stage,  then  ?  Why  don't  you  go  down  on  your 
knees  and  thank  me  for  that  voice  ?  Don't  dare  to  call  me 
mother  till  you  can  learn  how  to  obey  me  ! " 

"  I  cannot  obey  you  in  this.  If  you  drive  me  out  to  per. 
ish  in  the  street  I  will  not !" 

11  Then  into  the  street  you  go  !  Let  Brown  try  his  hand 
at  earning  a  living  for  you.  It  is  more  his  duty  than  mine." 

Caroline  turned  a  wild,  wistful  look  on  the  woman  as  she 
said  this  ;  then  she  moved  a  step  toward  her,  and  the  tones 
of  her  voice,  as  they  came  through  her  white  lips,  were 
mournful  and  stormy,  like  wind  over  snow. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  madam  ?  What  is  it  that  you 
insinuate?" 

"  Only  this,"  answered  Olympia,  with  a  malicious  laugh. 
"  As  you  are  resolved — as  you  never  will  be  anything  to  me 
again,  and  are  determined  to  throw  away  all  your  advan- 
tages, I  think  the  truth  will  bring  down  your  pride  a  little, 
and  so  mean  to  give  it  just  for  once.  I  really  do  suppose 
that  you  are  my  daughter — else,  where  did  you  get  the  voice 
you  are  giving  to  the  wind  ?  But,  if  you  are,  that"  man 
Brown  is  your  father,  for  he  was  my  husband  once." 

Caroline  stood  looking  at  the  woman,  white  and  still,  her 
large  eyes  widening,  all  her  features  in  a  tumult.  Then  she 
fell  upon  her  knees,  covered  her  face  with  both  hands,  and 
cried  out : 

"  Oh,  my  God !  is  this  good  man  my  father  ?  Are  these 
the  thrills  of  joy  that  a  child  knows  for  its  parent?" 

A  man  who  had  opened  the  door  of  Olympia's  boudoir 
was  arrested  on  the  threshold  by  these  words. 

Olympia  saw  him  and  sank  to  a  chair,  laughing  mali- 
ciously. 


216  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"Ask  him,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  man;  "ask  him. 
Don't  look  so  astonished,  Brown.  1  have  told  her  all  ahout 
it,  and  you  see  how  white  it  has  made  her.  She  does  not 
seem  to  relish  you  for  a  father  much  more  than  she  does  the 
stage ! " 

Caroline  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  arose,  with  a 
smile  breaking  through  the  scattered  moisture. 

"Not  like  him!  He  has  always  been  kind,  good,  gene- 
rous. I  did  not  need  this  to  make  me  love  him.  Father, 
my  father !  how  many  times  I  have  called  you  so,  but  this 
is  real!  Oh,  God  be  thanked  that  you  are  my  father!  " 

"  Ask  him  how  he  intends  to  support  you,"  broke  in 
Olympia,  washing  her  hands  over  again  in  dumb  show, 
and  drawing  in  her  breath  till  it  hissed  through  her  white 
teeth,  as  if  a  snake  had  crept  up  from  her  bad  heart. 

"I  will  support  her!  God  helping  me,  I  will!  Don't 
feel  down-hearted,  my  poor  child.  You  shall  not  be 
ashamed  of  me.  For  your  sake  I  will  do  anything.  I  can 
go  into  an  orchestra." 

"What!  I  ashamed  of  you,  my  father?  Why,  it  gives 
us  to  each  other.  I  have  something  in  this  wide  world  to 
love ! " 

Brown's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  was  trembling  vio- 
lently. 

"Father,  my  dear  father!"  murmured  Caroline,  drawing 
close  to  him,  wjth  a  feeling  that  he  was  all  the  friend  she 
had  in  the  world,  "do  not  look  so  troubled.  This  gives  me 
such  joy  that  I  cannot"  bear  to  see  tears  in  your  eyes,  my 
father." 

Brown  did  not  speak ;  he  had  no  power  of  voice,  but 
stood,  with  her  hands  in  his,  looking  into  her  face  in  pa- 
thetic silence. 

Olympia  arose. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  scene,  and  well  acted,"  she  said ;  "  but  I 


THE     QUARREL     AND     THE     LETTER.      217 

am  tired  of  being  sole  audience.  When  you  have  settled 
upon  anything,  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  bidding  you 
farewell.  I  must  go  to  rehearsal  now.  When  I  come  back, 
it  will  be  convenient  to  have  the  house  to  myself.  I  give  a 
little  supper  this  evening,  and  I  remember  you  do  not 
exactly  approve  of  my  little  suppers,  and,  for  the  world, 
would  not  shock  the  young  lady !  Good  morning,  Caroline. 
Good  morning,  Brown.  You  see  our  pretty  experiment  has 
failed,  and  we  have  got  to  part  again.  I  think  this  time 
will  be  forever !  " 

Olympia  swept  out  of  the  room  and  entered  her  carriage, 
looking  like  a  baffled  fury. 

Then  those  two  were  left  together,  and  for  half  an  hour 
they  sat,  looking  at  each  other  with  sad,  wistful  eyes, 
talking  of  the  past  in  snatches,  till  slowly  and  sadly  their 
minds  turned  to  the  future,  and  that  looked  blank  enough 
to  them.  What  could  they  do  ?  Olympia  had  never  been 
generous  to  her  daughter  or  the  ageiA  They  had  neither 
money  nor  valuables.  How  were  they  to  live,  even  for  a 
week? 

"  I  can,  perhaps,  obtain  a  situation  in  some  orchestra."  ' 

Poor  Brown  spoke  under  his  breath,  for  he  knew  well 
enough  that  Olympia  would  never  permit  him  to  earn  h'3 
bread  in  that  way,  so  long  as  her  influence  in  the  theatres 
could  prevent  it ;  but  it  was  the  only  hopeful  idea  he  could 
think  of,  and  so  ho  suggested  it  with  desponding  hesitation. 
But,  to  the  young  girl,  there  was  encouragement  even  ia 
this. 

"And  I  can  take  pupils.  You  remember  the  young  lady 
that  came  to  me  that  night  in  the  dressing-room  —  Lord 
Hope's  daughter?  " 

"Remember  her!y  exclaimed  Brown,  brightening  all 
over,  "  I  should  think  so !  When  she  turned  her  face 
upon  me  end  said,  'Don't  be  so  anxious,  sir.  She  is 


218  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

better  now,'  I  longed  to  fall  down  on  my  knees  and  worship 
her ! " 

Tears  came  into  Caroline's  eyes.  Her  nature  was  noble 
and  full  of  gratitude.  She  could  endure  wrong  and 
cruelty  without  weeping,  but  generous  and  kind  actions 
melted  her  heart. 

"Ah,  how  good  she  was;  we  can  trust  her,  my  father." 

How  falteringly,  and  with  what  pathos  she  used  this 
grand  old  word  now  !  Before,  she  had  done  it  in  affec- 
tionate play,  but  now,  a  solemn  feeling  of  tenderness 
thrilled  the  syllables,  as  "father"  dropped  from  her  lips, 
and  made  the  heart  swell  in  his  bosom  with  a  tremulous 
response. 

"  She  will  speak  to  Lady  Hope,  and  they  will  recommend 
pupils  to  us.  Oh,  if  we  could  only  go  back  to  Italy  !  " 

As  this  exclamation  was  on  her  lips,  the  servant  in  blue 
and  silver  came  through  the  door  with  a  salver  in  his  hand, 
on  which  lay  a  letter.  The  seal  and  monogram  had  struck 
his  eye,  and  he  brought  the  ^-missive  in  with  an  excess  of 
ceremony  that  would  have  been  laughable  at  another  time. 
He  brought  the  letter  to  Caroline.  She  tore  it  open,  and 
an  eager,  almost  wild  look  of  thankfulness  swept  over  her 
face  as  she  read  it. 

"  Oh,  father,  father !  See  what  the  good  God  has  done 
for  us ! " 

The  servant,  who  lingered  in  the  room,  was  so  astonished 
at  hearing  that  sacred  name  used  with  thanksgiving  or 
reverence  in  Olympia's  house,  that  he  dropped  the  silver 
tray  and  stood  open-mouthed  regarding  the  jTouug  lady. 

"  Read  it !  read  it !  Oh,  this  will  be  Heaven  to  us.  Ke- 
mark,  please,  you  are  to  come  with  me  and  Eliza.  Let  us 
start  by  the  very  next  train." 

It  was  Lady  Clara's  letter,  which,  of  course,  contained 
an  invitation  from  the  old  countess.  Clara  had  added  a 


THE     QUARREL     AND     THE     LETTER.      219 

little  hospitality  of  her  own,  and  suggested  that  Brown 
should  come  to  Hough  ton  for  awhile,  and  give  her  music 
lessons — she  was  getting  so  out  of  practice.  As  usual,  the 
girl  had  her  way,  and  that  letter  was  the  result.  But 
Brown's  face  grew  thoughtful  as  he  read. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  inquired  Caroline,  anxiously. 

"  But  how  are  we  to  get  there  ?  " 

All  the  anxiety  that  made  Brown's  heart  heavy  under 
this  good  news,  broke  out  in  these  words.  Caroline's  face 
clouded,  and  her  voice  faltered. 

"  Let  me  call  Eliza  and  Margaret ;  perhaps  they  can 
point  out  something." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  directly  both  the  maids  were  in- 
formed of  the  dilemma  they  were  in. 

What  was  to  be  done?  It  was  impossible  to  remain  a 
day  longer  in  Olympia's  house.  The  thought  was  intolera- 
ble. Margaret  and  Eliza  stood  looking  at  each  other  in 
blank  helplessness.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  All  at  once 
Margaret  gave  her  head  a  fling  and  brightened  all  over. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  old  coquettish 
gestures.  "  I  ma}r,  I  may — who  knows  ?  " 

Without  further  explanation  the  girl  went  up  stairs,  got 
out  her  most  becoming  hat  and  feather — for  she  had  never 
been  restricted,  like  an  English  servant,  in  such  matters — 
wrapped  a  scarlet  shawl  over  her  flounced  dress,  and,  after 
practising  a  little  before  the  mirror,  came  down  with  a 
glittering  parasol  in  her  hand. 

"Eliza,  just  come  here  and  see  if  my  pannier  is  looped 
properly,"  she  said,  giving  that  article  a  shake  as  she 

looked  in  at  the  door. 

• 

Eliza  came  out  of  the  room,  grim  as  ever,  and  gave  the 
pannier  a  discontented  jerk  or  two. 

"  Now  what  are  you  up  to  ?  "  she  inquired,  curtly,  for  she 


220  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

was  sometimes  a  little  scandalized  at  her  younger  sister's 
coquettish  airs. 

"Never  you  mind,  only  tell  me  one  thing,  honest.  Look 
at  me.  Ain't  I  about  as  good  looking  as  I  ever  was  ?  If  I 
am,  tell  them  to  wait  till  I  come  back." 

"Don't  ask  me!"  was  the  curt  answer.  "Of  course 
they'll  wait,  because  they  can't  help  it." 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

MAGGIE    CASEY   MEETS   HEK    OLD   LOVER. 

MARGARET  CASEY  called  a  cab,  and  ordering  it  to  drive 
to  Morley's,  Trafalgar  Square,  betook  herself  to  rearranging 
her  toilet.  She  re-clasped  a  pair  of  heavy  gold  bracelets 
around  her  wrists — at  any  rate  there  was  enough  of  gold  in 
them  to  make  a  dashing  display — and  settled  a  splendid 
shawl  pin  to  her  own  infinite  content,  then  she  shook  out 
the  folds  of  her  dress,  and  settled  down  to  serious  medita- 
tion. 

Certainly  she  did  not  appear  much  older  than  when  her 
good  looks  had  been  a  temptation  to  Matthew  Stacy,  which 
came  very  near  depriving  Harriet,  the  cook,  of  her  pompous 
husband.  Excitement  had  brought  back  the  youthful  color 
to  her  face,  and  a  spirit  of  benevolent  mischief  kindled  all 
the  old  coquettish  fire  in  her  eyes.  Indeed,  take  her  alto- 
gether, the  air  of  refinement,  which  she  had  obtained  as  a 
lady's  maid,  and  a  certain  style  that  she  had,  might  well 
have  made  Mrs.  Matthew  Stacy  look  about  her  when  Mar- 
garet came  out  in  force,  such  as  marked  the  dashing  lady 
who  descended  from  that  cab,  just  lifting  her  dress  enough 


V 

* 


MAGGIE    MEETS    HER    OLD    LOVER.        221 

to  reveal  glimpses  of  a  high-heeled  boot,  and  an  ankle  that 
Matthew  Stacy  recognized  in  an  instant,  for  nothing  so  trim 
and  dainty  had  ever  helped  make  a  footprint  in  his  matri- 
monial path,  you  may  be  sure.  He  was  standing  on  the 
steps  at  Morley's,  with  a  white  vest  on  and  his  heavy  chain 
glittering  over  it  like  a  golden  rivulet. 

"  What !  No !  yes  !  On  my  soul  I  believe  it  is  Miss 
Maggie ! "  cried  the  ex-alderman,  stepping  forward  and 
reaching  out  his  hand.  "  Miss  Casey,  I  am  in  ecstasies  of — 
of — in  short,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

Maggie  bent  till  her  pannier  took  the  high  Grecian  curve 
as  she  opened  her  parasol,  then  she  gave  him  the  tip  end  of 
her  gloved  fingers,  and  said,  with  the  sweetest  lisp  possible : 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Stacy  ?  It  is  ages  and  ages  since 
I  have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  you.  How  is  Mrs.  Stacy 
and  the — and  the — " 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times,  Miss  Casey ;  but — but — in 
short,  Mrs.  Stacy  is  the  only  person  about  whom  you  need 
inquire.  There  was  another  —  forgive  the  outburst  of  a 
father's  feelings — but  a  little  grave  in  Greenwood,  that 
long,  tells  the  mournful  story/' 

Here  Alderman  Stacy  measured  off  a  half  yard  or  so  of 
space  with  his  fat  hands,  but  found  the  effort  too  much  for 
him,  and  drew  forth  his  pocket  handkerchief. 

"  Forgive  me,  but  may  you  never  know  the  feelings  of  a 
father  who — who — " 

"  How  distressing ! "  said  Margaret,  waving  her  head  to 
and  fro,  until  her  eyes  settled  on  a  window  of  the  hotel. 

"  But  do  control  yourself.  I  think  that  is  Harriet — I  beg 
pardon — Mrs.  Stacy,  at  the  window,  and  your  grief  may  re- 
mind her  of  her  loss." 

"  Mrs.  Stacy  !  Mrs.  Stacy  ! "  faltered  Matthew.  "  Miss 
Maggie,  would  you  have  any  objection  to  stepping  a  little 
this  way  ?  It  is  so  unpleasant  for  a  young  lady  of  your 


222  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

refinement  to  stand  directly  in  front  of  a  hotel  filled  with 
gentlemen.  Beauty  like  yours  is  sure  to  bring  them  to  the 
windows  in  swarms,  as  one  may  observe,  and  I — I  have 
enough  of  the  old  feeling  left  to  he  jealous,  miserably  jealous 
when  any  man  dares  to  look  upon  you." 

"  But  I  come  to  call  on  your  wife,  Mr.  Stacy." 

"  She  is  not  at  home,  I  do  assure  you.  She  has  been 
shopping  since — since  day  before  yesterday." 

Margaret's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Then,  perhaps,  I  had  better  go  up,  and  wait  for  her  ?  " 

Margaret  was  bright,  but  even  here  her  old  lover  proved 
equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  My  dear  Maggie — excuse  me,  Miss  Casey — I  do  assure 
you  my  lady  has  taken  the  parlor-key  with  her.  She  will  be 
so  disappointed  at  not  seeing  you  !  " 

"  It  is  unfortunate,"  said  Maggie,  playing  with  her  para- 
sol ;  "  because  I  was  in  hopes  of  having  a  few  words  with 
you,  and  that  would  be  improper,  I  fear,  without  her." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Maggie,  not  at  all — not  at  all.  You  have 
no  idea  of  the  quantities  of  women  that  prefer  to  see  me 
alone.  Indeed,  sometimes  I  think  Mrs.  Stacy  is  a  little  in 
the  way.  Just  walk  quietly  along,  miss — not  before  the 
windows.  Excuse  my  infirmity,  but  there  are  some  feelings 
that  one  never  can  throw  off.  Hold  that  elegant  parasol 
before  that  lovely  face,  and  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  twinkling. 
The  park  is  not  far  off.  One  moment,  while  I  run  up  for 
my  cane." 

Margaret  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded,  for  the  last 
thing  in  her  mind  had  been  to  see  Mrs.  Stacy.  Like  those 
other  ladies  Matthew  had  boasted  of,  she  very  much  prefer- 
red to  see  him  alone,  and  would  have  been  greatly  annoyed 
had  Harriet,  in  fact,  appeared  at  the  window. 

So,  making  a  merit  of  her  own  wishes,  she  slanted  her 
parasol  toward  the  house  and  sauntered  down  the  street, 


MAGGIE    MEETS    HER    OLD    LOVER.       223 

while  Matthew  ran  up-stairs,  panting  for  breath,  and,  enter- 
ing his  parlor,  looked  anxiously  toward  the  window. 

"  Matthew,  dear,  is  that  you  ?" 

Matthew's  foreboding  heart  revived.  That  mumbling 
term  of  endearment,  coming,  as  it  were,  though  a  mouthful 
of  cotton  wool,  reassured  him.  He  stepped  to  the  sleeping- 
room  door,  and  found  Mrs.  Stacy,  with  her  head  buried  in 
the  pillows  and  her  feet  thumping  restlessly  on  the  quilt. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  love  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Stacy,  dear,  such  a  sudden  take-down !  My  old  neu- 
ralgia. Matthew !  Matthew !  don't  leave  me  !  I  feel  as  if 
I  was  just  a  goin' ! " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  dear.  All  you  want  is  plenty  of  quiet. 
A  good,  long  sleep  would  bring  you  around  in  no  time. 
Just  snuggle  down  in  the  pillows,  and  take  yourself  off  to 
sleep  till  I  come  back." 

"  Are  you  going  ?  and  me  like  this  ?     Oh,  Matthew  ! " 

"You  can't  feel  it  more  than  I  do,  Harriet,  dear;  but  I 
must  go  down  to  the  bankers  with  this  bill  of  exchange. 
Ten  thousand  dollars  isn't  to  be  carried  round  in  a  man's 
pocket  safely.  Besides,  there  is  a  special  messenger  just 
come  up  from  the  bank;  so  I  must  go,  you  see.  But  it 
breaks  my  heart  to  leave  you  so — indeed  it  does !" 

"  Oh,  if  it's  about  money,  I  do  not  mind.  That  is  a  thing 
which  must  be  attended  to.  But  Stacy,  dear,  don't  let  them 
keep  you  long ;  but  go  at  onst,  and  right  back." 

"  The  moment  those  rich  old  fellows  will  let  me  off — the 
very  moment,  dear!"  cried  the  model  husband,  waving  his 
hand  airily  toward  the  bed,  and  taking  up  both  hat  and 
cane  ;  "  so  try  and  sleep." 


224  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

JUST     FIFTY     POUNDS. 

MRS.  STACY,  thus  reminded  of  her  own  needs,  began  to 
moan  softly  among  her  pillows,  and  called  out  to  the  walls 
and  windows  that  she  wished,  if  that  pain  was  going  to 
keep  on  so,  that  she  never  had  been  born.  If  it  wasn't 
that  she  had  the  very  test  husband  that  ever  drew  breath, 
she  would  just  give  up,  and  want  to  die ;  but  for  his  sake  she 
would  try  and  worry  through. 

Stacy  was  far  out  of  reach  both  of  the  moans  and  this 
conjugal  tribute  to  his  goodness,  for  he  had  hastened  to  join 
that  bank  messenger  who,  somehow,  took  the  form  of  his 
old  sweetheart,  and  shaded  him  now  and  then  with  a 
coquettish  bend  of  her  parasol. 

"  Found  your  cane,"  observed  Maggie,  glancing  at  the 
ponderous  gold-headed  affair  in  the  hand  of  her  old  lover. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  no  trouble ;  had  just  stood  it  up  in  a  corner  of 
the  parlor." 

Maggie  laughed  a  little  nnder  the  cover  of  hei^parasol, 
bnt  kept  a  discreet  silence  about  the  locked  door  until  she 
was  snugly  seated  in  the  park,  with  Stacy  crowded  close  to 
her  side. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  heaving  a  sigh  that  lifted  the  white  vest 
like  a  snow-bank,  "this  is  something  like  happiness!  If 
you  could  only  know  what  your  haughtiness  has  driven  me 
to — but  it  is  no  use  trying  to  make  you  understand !  Look 
at  me,  Miss  Maggie  !  Am  I  the  same  man  that  adored  you 
so?  Don't  answer.  I  am,  I  am,  for — Harriet,  forgive  me, 
I  love  you  yet — I  love  you  yet ! " 

"  But  you  left  me,  Mr.  Stacy." 

"Kather  say  the  furies  driv  me.     I  wasn't  myself.     It 


JUPT     FIFTY     POUNDS.  225 

was  another  fellow  that  woman  married  :  the  true  man  staid 
with  you,  and  here  he  is,  just  the  same  as  ever,  if  you  would 
only  believe  it — but  you  won't,  you  won't ! " 

"  How  can  I  believe  it,  Mr.  Stacy,  after  abandoning  me 
so?" 

"  But  not  till  you  driv  me  to  it — not  till  you  had  slapped 
my  face  with  that  precious  little  hand." 

"  Mr.  Stacy,  I — I'm  glad  you  care  for  me  a  little,  because 
I  want  a  great  favor  of  you." 

Stacy  sat  upright  in  the  iron  seat,  and  pulled  down  his 
white  vest  with  a  couple  of  jerks. 

"  A  favor,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  great  favor." 

"  And  what  may  its  natur  be,  Miss  Maggie  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Stacy,  you  are  a  rich  man." 

Stacy  was  troubled.  To  deny  his  wealth  was  a  terrible 
sacrifice  of  vanity — to  admit  it  might  be  exposing  himself  to 
depredation. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  am  rich.  No  one  in  New 
York  would  doubt  that ;  but  over  here  one  has  such  trouble 
in  getting  funds,  you  understand.  It  was  only  this  morning 
Mrs.  Stacy  wanted  money  for  a  little  shopping,  as  she  called 
it ;  butTI  couldn't  give  it  to  her — upon  my  soul  I  couldn't." 

"  Then,  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  ask  you  for  a  loan  of 
twenty-five  pounds,  as  I  thought  of  doing." 

"  A  loan  of  twenty-five  pounds,  my  dear  Maggie  !  Five 
hundred  pounds  would  not  be  too  much,  if  I  were  only  in 
New  York ;  but  here  in  London,  where  Alderma-n  Stacy  is 
not  known,  I  could  not  raise  even  the  miserable  sum  you 
want — I  could  not,  indeed." 

Maggie's  .eyes  beg^n  to  flash,  for  she  understood  the 
meanness  of  this  man,  and  despised  it ;  but  she  thought  of 
that  anxious  group  in  Olympia's  parlor,  and  resolved  to 
have  the  money. 


226  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"Still,  considering  everything,  I  think  you  will  try  to 
oblige  me." 

"  Don't  ask  me.  It  wounds  my  manhood  to  refuse ;  but 
let  us  talk  of  something  else — those  dear  old  times — " 

"  No,"  said  Margaret,  unlocking  one  of  her  bracelets, 
and  closing  it  with  a  vicious  snap.  "  If  you  cannot  let  me 
have  it,  I  will  go  to  your  wife." 

"My  wife?  You  go  to  my  wife!  Why,  she  hates  you 
like  pison  ! " 

"  And  I  am  not  very  fond  of  her;  but  I  want  this  money, 
and  she  will  have  to  give  it  me." 

Stacy  pulled  down  his  vest  again,  and  broke  into  a  mellow 
laugh. 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  see  you  try  it  on  !  What  would 
you  say  to  her,  Maggie  ?  " 

"  I  would  say :  Mrs.  Matthew  Stacy,  you  and  I  were 
fellow-servants  together  in  New  York,  where  the  lady  was 
murdered  ;  and  for  some  days,  you  and  I,  and  the  person 
you  have  married,  were  left  in  charge  of  all  the  valuable  pro- 
erty  that  house  had  in  it.  One  of  those  nights  I  went  away, 
leaving  everything  in  its  place.  WThen  I  came  back  again 
the  wardrobes  had  been  plundered,  the  bureaus  broken  open, 
the  wine-cellar  pillaged." 

Matthew  Stacy  had  been  growing  crimson  while  Maggie 
spoke.  He  put  up  a  hand  to  his  throat,  as  if  something 
were  choking  him,  and  tore  open  a  button  or  two  of  his  vest ; 
then  he  gasped  out : 

"  Miss  Maggie,  Miss  Maggie,  do  you  mean  to  insinuate 
that  I  or  my  wife  Harriet — " 

"  I  don't  mean  to  insinuate  anything,*  because  what  I 
say  I  know.  You  and  your  wife  took  these  things.  I  knew 
it  at  the  time ;  I  can  prove  it  now." 

"  Prove  it  fourteen  years  after  ?  " 

"  Some  things  do  not  wear  out — jewelry  and  Indja  shaw's, 


JUST     FIFTY     POUNDS.  227 

for  instance.  I  was  at  the  Opera  not  long  since.  My 
sister,  who  used  to  come  and  visit  me  so  often,  is  a  little  in 
that  line,  and  I  used  to  show  her  all  the  shawls  and  splendid 
dresses  our  mistress  used  to  have.  Well,  that  night  at  the 
Opera  we  both  saw  your  wife,  sitting  by  you,  with  the  best 
shawl  the  madam  had,  on  her  own  shouders.  We  knew  it 
at  a  glimpse.  There  isn't  another  just  like  it  to  be  found  in 
England  or  America.  That  shawl,  Matthew  Stacy,  is  worth 
thousands  of  dollars,  and  your  wife,  Harriet  Long,  the  cook, 
was  wearing  it." 

"  Margaret !    Margaret  Casey,  you  had  better  take  care." 

"  I  have  taken  care.  This  woman  had  a  gold-mounted 
opera-glass  in  her  hand  that  we  both  can  swear  to.  Besides 
that,  she  had  a  little  watch  at  her  side,  set  thick  with  dia- 
monds. That  watch  she  took  to  a  jeweller  to  be  mended. 
It  is  in  his  hands  yet.  When  I  leave  this  seat,  it  will  be 
my  first  business  to  make  sure  that  she  never  gets  the 
watch  again." 

"  But  it  is  fourteen  years — time  enough  for  anything  to 
be  outlawed." 

"  I  have  asked  about  that.  Crimes  are  not  like  debts — 
they  cannot  be  outlawed,  Mr.  Stacy." 

"  And  you  could  find  it  in  your  heart  to  hunt  down  an 
old  sweetheart  like  that,  providing  all  you  say  is  true  ?  I 
wouldn't  a  believed  it  of  you,  Maggie." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  sweetheart  just  now  refused  to  lend 
me  twenty-five  pounds." 

"  Refused  !     No,  he  did  not  refuse." 

Matthew  caught  his  breath,  and  changed  his  wheedling 
tone  all  at  once.  A  new  idea  had  struck  him. 

"  But,  supposing  what  you  say  is  true,  there  isn't  any  one 
in  England  to  prosecute — " 

"  Yes,  there  is  the  lady's  agent.     He  sat  by  you  when  we 
first  saw  the  shawl.     Mr.  Hepworth  Gloss." 
14 


228  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Matthew  Stacy  sprang  to  his  feet,  perfectly  aghast. 

"And  you  have  told  him  ?  " 

"  Not  yet ;  hut  I  mean  to  !  " 

"  You  mean  to — " 

"Yes,  I  do!" 

"  That  is  it — that  is  it — the  self-same  cretur  that  left  the 
print  of  her  fingers  on  my  cheek,  and  of  herself  on  my 
heart.  It  is  her  who  wishes  to  cast  me  to  the  earth,  and 
have  me  stamped  on  by  the  law.  Oh,  Maggie  Casey, 
Maggie  Casey,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  of  you  !  " 

"And  I  wouldn't  have  believed  you  capable  of  refusing 
me  fifty  pounds  !  " 

"  Fifty  pounds  !     It  was  twenty-five,  Miss  Margaret." 

"  Yes ;  but  I've  changed  my  mind.  One  does  not  want 
to  be  refused  a  miserable  sum  like  that.  I've  doubled  it." 

"  But  I  did  not  refuse ;  I  only  wanted  to  put  the  subject 
off  till  we  had  talked  of  old  times — I  didn't  refuse  you  by 
any  manner  of  means.  You  hadn't  told  me  anything  about 
yourself — how  you  came  here,  and  what  you  were  doing,  or 
anything  that  an  old  lovyer's  heart  was  panting  to  know." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  now.  I  have  been,  ever  since  that 
time,  in  the  family  of  a  nobleman,  as  a  sort  of  half  servant, 
half  companion  to  his  daughter." 

"  You  don't  say  so !    Then  what  on  earth  can  you  want  of  * 
twenty-five  pounds  ?  " 

"Fifty." 

"  Well,  fifty  it  is,  then.  Between  us,  that  was  all  I  hesi- 
tated about ;  twenty-five  pounds  was  such  a  pitiful  sum  for 
you  to  ask  of  me.  You  didn't  understand  this  noble  feel- 
ing, and  almost  threatened  me ;  but  not  quite,  and  I'm  glad 
of  it,  for  Matthew  Stacy  is  the  last  man  on  earth  to  give  up 
to  a  threat.  I  hope  you  will  believe  that,  Miss  Margaret." 

"  Fifty  pounds  ! "  said  Margaret,  lifting  a  tuft  of  grass  by 
the  roots  with  the  point  of  her  parasol. 


JUST     FIFTY     POUNDS. 

"Did  I  dispute  its  being  fifty?  Certainly  not.  Now 
just  say  how  you  will  take  it — in  gold  or  Bank  of  England 
notes  ?  " 

"  Notes  will  do." 

"  I'm  glad  you  said  that,  because  I  happen  to  have  the 
notes  about  me,"  answered  the  alderman,  drawing  out  a  ple- 
thoric note-case,  and  counting  the  money  with  terrible 
reluctance.  "  Here  we  are ;  just  the  sum.  Now  tell  me, 
were  you  really  in  earnest  about  its  being  fifty?  " 

"  Just  fifty,"  answered  Margaret,  counting  the  money  on 
her  lap;  "just  fifty." 

Matthew  heaved  a  grievous  sigh,  and  stood  up. 

"Now  I  suppose  that  little  affair  is  settled  forever?" 
he  said,  working  both  hands  about  the  head  of  his  cane, 
while  he  eyed  the  girl  askance. 

"I  said  fifty  pounds,  and  fifty  pounds  it  is,"  answered 
Margaret.  "  Now  let  us  be  going." 

"  But  you  mean  to  act  fair  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  act  fair,  and  return  your  money." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,  I  don't  want  that !  It  was  the 
other  affair;  you  could  not  do  anything  so  cruel." 

Margaret  turned  short  round  and  faced  the  stout  man, 
who  was  trembling,  abjectly,  from  head  to  foot. 

"Mr.  Stacy,  I  have  kept  silent  fifteen  years  and  rather 
over.  If  I  have  not  spoken  before,  you  may  be  certain  I 
never  shall.  I  wanted  this  money  very  much,  indeed,  and 
shall  repay  it  with  less  thankfulness  because  of  the  mean 
way  in  which  I  forced  it  from  you.  Your  wife  may  wear 
her  shawl  and  watch  to  the  end,  for  any  harm  I  mean  her. 
Good  morning,  Mr.  Stacy." 

Stacy  stood  just  as  she  left  him,  thrusting  his  cane  into 
the  turf. 

"  And  she  wouldn't  have  done  it  after  all.  What  a  con- 
founded fool  I  have  made  of  myself!  Two  hundred  and 


230  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

fifty  dollars,  and  gold  up  to  one-forty  at  home,  which  makes 
another  clean  hundred.  What  a  mercy  it  is  she  didn't  ask 
a  thousand,  though !  She  took  the  starch  out  of  me, 
through  and  through.  I  should  have  handed  over  any- 
thing she  asked." 

As  Stacy  was  walking  from  the  park,  now  and  then  giv- 
ing a  punch  to  the  turf  with  his  cane,  in  discontented  ab- 
straction, he  nearly  ran  against  a  man  who  had  just  passed 
the  gate,  and,  looking  up  angrily,  saw  Hepworth  Closa. 
The  poor  craven  turned  white  as  he  saw  that  face ;  but 
Hepworth  was  in  haste,  and  took  no  heed  of  his  agitation. 

"  You  are  just  the  man  I  most  wanted,"  he  said. 

"  What — what — me  ?  Is  it  me  you  wanted  ?  "  stammer- 
ed Stacy,  smitten  with  abject  terror. 

"  Yes ;  you  are  an  American,  and  will  understand  the 
value  of  American  bonds." 

"  American  bonds !  Surely,  Mr.  Closs,  you  will  at  least 
give  me  a  chance  of  bail?  I  tell  you  it  is  all  false  !  That 
creature  isn't  to  be  believed  under  oath." 

"  I  have  no  idea  what  you  mean,"  said  Closs,  a  good  deal 
puzzled ;  "  but  you  evidently  do  not  understand  me.  I 
am  about  to  leave  England,  and  have  a  monied  trust  to 
settle  before  I  go.  There  is  a  reason  why  it  is  inexpedi- 
ent for  me  to  act  in  person.  I  wish  to  pay  the  money,  but 
give  no  explanation.  Will  you  act  as  my  agent  in  this  ?  " 

"  Is — is  it — that  estate  you  are  just  settling  up  ?  "  asked 
Stacy,  below  his  breath,  for  he  felt  as  if  the  earth  were 
about  to  swallow  him.  "  Is  it  that  ?  " 

"  I  can  give  you  no  explanation.  This  money  came  into 
my  hands  years  ago.  I  invested  it  carefully — doubled  it 
over  and  over  again ;  but  now  I  wish  to  give  up  my  trust. 
I  have  it  here  in  American  bonds,  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Fifty  thousand  ! " 

"  Just  that.     I  wish  you  to  take  this  to  the  young  lady, 


JUST     FIFTY     POUNDS.  231 

to  whom  it  rightfully  belongs,  and  place  it  in  her  own 
hands,  with  the  simple  statement  that  it  is  hers.  Will  you 
oblige  me  in  this  ?  " 

"  First  tell  me  who  the  young  lady  is." 

"  Lady  Clara,  the  daughter  of  Lord  Hope,  of  Oakhurst." 

"  The  daughter  of  a  lord !  My  dear  sir,  I  shall  be  too 
happy ! " 

"  But  there  is  a  condition.  I  do  not  wish  the  lady  to 
guess  where  this  money  comes  from.  You  must  be  under- 
stood as  the  agent,  who  has  invested  and  increased  it  from  a 
small  property  left  in  New  York  by  a  relative.  This  will 
work  you  no  harm,  but,  on  the  contrary,  win  for  you  favor 
and  gratitude  from  as  noble  a  lady  as  ever  lived." 

"  Will  it  get  an  invitation  to  Oakhurst  for  myself  and 
Mrs.  Stacy?  That  is  a  thing  I  should  like  to  mention 
incidentally,  to  the  Board  of  Aldermen  when  they  give  me 
a  public  reception  in  the  Governor's  Room.  Will  it  bring 
about  something  of  that  kind?" 

"That  I  cannot  tell.  The  young  lady  is  not  now  at 
Oakhurst,  but  with  her  grandmother,  at  Houghton  Castle. 
It  is  there  you  will  find  her." 

"  Houghton  Castle !  Why,  that's  the  place  I  saw  men- 
tioned in  the  Court  Journal.  There  is  to  be  tremendous 
doings  at  Houghton  Castle  before  long ;  a  grand  entertain- 
ment, to  which  all  the  grandees,  far  and  near,  are  invited. 
What  if  this  fifty  thousand  dollars  should  get  me  and  Mrs. 
S.  an  invite  ?  That  would  be  a  crusher." 

"It  is  possible,"  said  Closs,  controlling  the  fierce  beating 
of  his  heart.  "Come  to  my  hotel  in  the  morning,  early. 
I  am  anxious  to  get  this  trust  off  my  mind." 

Stacy  promised,  and  the  two  men  parted,  the  one  elated, 
the  other  doubtful,  harassed,  and  painfully  disappointed; 
but  the  very  next  day  after  Matthew  Stacy  left  London  for 


232  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Houghton,  Hepworth  Gloss  received  a  letter,  which  put  all 
ideas  of  a  voyage  to  America  out  of  his  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

OLYMPIA'S    DEFEAT. 

OLYMPIA  stood,  panic-stricken,  in  her  fantastic  little  bou- 
doir, when  she  reached  home  and  found  a  note  from  Caro- 
line, bidding  her  farewell,  and  stating  that,  not  being  able 
to  comply  with  her  wishes,  she  had  accepted  the  other  alter- 
native, and  left  her  house  forever,  in  company  with  her 
father  and  the  old  servant,  who  had  been  so  faithful  to  her. 
The  note  breathed  of  sadness  and  sorrow  at  the  manner  of 
her  leaving,  and,  if  firm,  was  entirely  respectful ;  but  it 
said  nothing  of  her  plans,  nor  told  where  she  was  going. 

Now,  Olympia  thought  that  she  had  provided  against  the 
possibility  of  a  choice  between  her  cruel  commands,  by  de- 
priving both  Caroline  and  her  father  of  all  means  by  which 
they  could  leave  her.  She  had  gone  out,  certain  of  the 
girl's  forced  submission,  and  came  back  to  find  her  gone. 
She  crushed  the  note  in  her  hand,  flung  it  down  and  stamp- 
ed upon  it  furiously  ;  for  it  seemed  as  if  half  a  million  of  gold 
had  melted  down  into  the  bit  of  paper,  which  she  could  only 
trample  under  her  feet  in  impotent  wrath. 

"  The  viper  !  the  ingrate  !  the  thing  made  of  iron  !  Oh, 
if  it  were  her!  if  it  were  her!  I  would  trample  her  through 
the  floor  !  Where  did  she  get  the  money?  He  had  nothing 
— she  had  nothing.  I  thought  I  had  chained  them  to  me  by 
their  poverty ;  then  I  came  home,  so  exhilarated  by  this 
great  offer  from  the  manager — and  she  is  gone  !  So  beauti- 
ful !  and  such  a  voice !  Gone  !  gone  !  Oh,  what  a  loss !  " 


OLTMPIA'S    DEFEAT.  233 

0 

Here  Olympia,  who  had  never  know  what  self-control  was, 
flung  herself  on  a  low,  silken  couch,  heaped  with  cushions, 
like  a  divan,  and  began  to  pound  them  with  her  little  fists, 
and  spurn  them  with  the  soiled  white  satin  slippers,  in 
which  she  had  been  to  rehearsal.  This  burst  of  hysterical 
fury  would  have  brought  down  the  house  had  she  plunged 
into  such  naturalness  on  the  stage.  But  she  started  up,  and 
after  snatching  a  mosaic  card-receiver  from  her  footman,  and 
dashing  it  against  a  marble  statuette  of  Venus  coming  from 
the  bath,  thus  demolishing  what  little  drapery  the  poor  thing 
was  trying  to  make  the  most  of,  came  partially  to  herself 
and  demanded  what  the  fellow  wanted. 

The  footman,  shivering  under  his  blue  and  silver,  pointed 
to  a  card  which  lay  on  the  carpet. 

"Why  don't  you  pick  it  up  ?"  cried  Olympia,  stamping 
her  satin  slipper  into  a  cluster  of  roses,  that  seemed  to  disap- 
pear from  the  carpet. 

The  man  took  up  the  card  and  handed  it  to  her,  with  a 
reverence  so  humble  that  she  longed  to  trample  him  down 
with  the  mock  roses,  and  get  him  out  of  her  sight;  but,  as 
he  towered  above  her  a  foot  or  two,  the  process  seemed  diffi- 
cult, so  she  ordered  him  out  of  the  room,  and  looked  at  the 
card. 

"  Lord  Hilton  !    Dear  me  !  " 

Olympia  made  a  dash  through  the  silken  curtains,  ran 
into  the  hall,  just  as  Lord  Hilton  was  leaving  the  door-step, 
and  called  him  back. 

He  followed  her  into  the  boudoir,  telling  her  the  reason  of 
his  visit  as  he  went. 

This  inflamed  her  anew,  and  she  turned  upon  him  sav- 
agely, but  \Yith  some  attempt  at  self-restraint. 

"You  wished  to  see  Caroline?  the  ingrate  !  the  viper! 
the  raven,  with  a  nightingale's  voice!  You  wish  to  see 


234  THE  ^.LD     COUNTESS. 

her?      Why?      This  is  singular.      I  thought  she  was  a 
stranger  to  you.     No  !     Then,  where  did  you  meet?  " 

"  I  have  seen  the  young  lady  frequently  in  Italy.  Will 
you  please  to  have  her  informed  that  I  am  here?  " 

"  Informed — I !  Well,  my  lord,  this  is  droll !  No  such 
person  is  in  my  house.  I  could  no  longer  tolerate  her. 
She  is  gone." 

"  What !     Your  daughter  ?  " 

"  My  daughter !  Did  I  ever  say  that  ?  Ah,  I  remember — 
it  was  after  one  of  our  little  suppers,  when  one  gets  liberal ! 
But  this  ingrate  was  no  daughter  of  mine,  but  my  protege 
— something  to  fasten  the  heart  on,  as  one  loves  a  Skye  ter- 
rier. Her  father  was  a  poor  man — very  poor,  almost 
degraded,  you  understand — so,  in  my  unfortunate  munifi- 
cence, I  lifted  her  out  of  her  poverty,  gave  her  some  of  my 
own  genius,  and  took  her  to  my  bosom,  as  Cleopatra  took 
the  asp ;  and  she  stung  me,  just  in  the  same  wajT,  villain- 
ous ingrate!  This  girl  has  treated  me  shamefully.  I  had 
made  such  an  engagement  for  her — such  concessions — car- 
riage for  herself,  dressing-maid  always  in  attendance,  a 
boudoir  for  her  retirement,  private  box,  everything  that  a 
princess  might  ask ;  bills  almost  made  out,  and  when  I 
come  home,  she  is  gone.  Head  that  note,  my  lord ;  it  lies 
there  at  your  feet.  Read  it,  and  tell  me  if  you  ever  heard 
of  such  base  ingratitude." 

Lord  Hilton  took  up  the  crumpled  and  trodden  paper. 
His  eyes  eagerly  ran  over  its  contents,  and  brightened  as 
they  read  ;  while  Olympia  prowled  around  her  boudoir,  like 
a  newly-caged  leopardess. 

"Read!  read!"  she  said,  "and  then  say  if  anything  so 
ungrateful  ever  lived.  No,  no,  my  lord,  she  is  no  child  of 
mine.  I  wash  my  hands  of  her  —  I  wash  my  hands  of 
her!" 

Here  Olympia  laved  her  white  hands  in  the  air,  and  went 
• 


OLYMPIA'S   DEFEAT.  235 

through  a  process  of  dry  washing  in  the  heat  of  her  prome- 
nade up  and  down  the  room. 

"And  have  you  no  idea  where  the  young  lady  has 
gone  ?  " 

"An  idea!  How  should  I  have  ideas?  You  have  read 
her  letter.  Well,  that  is  all." 

Lord  Hilton  folded  the  note,  and  softly  closed  his  hand 
over  it. 

"Then  I  will  no  longer  trouble  you,  madam,"  he  said, 
holding  back  the  curtain,  while  he  bowed  himself  through 
the  entrance. 

Olympia  watched  the  crimson  curtains  close  over  him, 
standing,  with  some  effort  at  self-control,  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.  Then  she  broke  into  a  fresh  paroxysm,  shattered 
a  few  more  ornaments  by  way  of  appeasing  her  appetite  for 
destruction,  and  plunged  down  among  her  cushions  in  a  fit 
of  shrieking  hysterics  that  brought  the  whole  household 
around  her. 

A  knock  at  the  door — another  visitor — brought  Olympia 
out  of  her  fit,  and  turned  her  general  rage  into  spite. 

"Show  them  in — show  everybody  in!  If  they  want  to 
see  how  I  bear  it,  let  the  whole  world  come ! "  she  cried, 
spreading  her  hands  abroad. 

The  man  who  went  to  the  door  obeyed  her,  and  brought 
in  an  old  woman,  whose  anxious,  tired  face  might  have  won 
sympathy  from  a  stone.  She  entered  that  glittering  room 
without  excitement  or  any  appearance  of  curiosity,  and 
when  Olympia,  in  coarse  and  spiteful  irony,  bade  her  sit 
down  in  one  of  the  easy-chairs,  she  took  it  quietly. 

"  There  is  a  young  lady  staying  with  you,  madam,  that  I 
wish  to  see.  I  think-she  is  known  by  the  name  of  Brown." 

"Brown?  Brown?  There  is  no  such  person  here. 
How  dare  you  come  troubling  me  about  her,  the  ingrate, 
the  asp,  the — the — " 


236  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  It  may  be  that  the  young  lady  may  still  be  called 
Yates.  She  bore  that  name  once." 

"Yates?  Brown?  Brown?  Yates?  I  know  nothing 
about  them.  Don't  go  on  in  that  fashion,  questioning;  for 
I  won't  hear  it!  Who  are  you  that  dares  come  here  with 
such  names?  I  do  not  keep  a  lodging-house.  I  am 
Olympia ! :) 

"  But  there  was  a  young  lad}7  here — the  one  I  wish  to 
see,"  said  the  old  woman,  with  calm  persistence. 

"Well,  and  if  there  was  ?  " 

"  I  have  very  urgent  reasons  for  wishing  to  find  her." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  will,  who  knows?  Needles  have 
been  found  in  haymows,  but  I  wasn't  the  person  to  pick 
them  up,  and  it  strikes  me  that  you  won't  be  more  fortu- 
nate." 

"  But  I  must  see  this  lady  ! " 

"  If  you  can  find  her,  certainly ;  but  she  is  not  here,  and 
never  is  likely  to  be  again — the  wretch — the  viper!" 

"When  did  she  leave  here,  madam?" 

"When — when?  What  is  that  to  you?  Am  I  come  to 
the  pass  that  I  cannot  turn  a  viper  into  the  street  without 
being  questioned  by  every  old  tramp  that  prowls  about? 
I  tell  you  the  creature  you  call  Brown — " 

"Caroline  Brown,"   said  the  old  lady,  gently. 

"Well,  the  creature  you  call  Caroline  Brown,  then,  has 
gone  from  my  house  forever.  I  neither  know  nor  care  what 
has  become  of  her." 

The  old  woman  arose,  and  walked  close  to  Olympia. 

"You  have  forgotten  me,  Olive  Brown.  It  is  a  long 
time  since  you  brought  that  helpless  little  child  to  me." 

Olympia  turned  white,  and,  turning,  fiercely  ordered  the 
servants  from  the  room. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  What  are  you  ?  "  she'faltered.    "  What 


OLYMPIA'S   DEFEAT.  237 

tempted  you  to  call  me  by  that  name,  and  they  standing 
by?" 

"  I  am  named  Yates.  Years  ago  you  brought  a  child  for 
me  to  care  for." 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  child  again !  I  tell  you,  on  my  honor,  she 
has  left  my  house,  I  do  not  know  where  she  has  gone." 

"Are  you  certain,  madam?  " 

"  Certain  !  Yes  —  yes.  She  left  my  house  only  this 
morning." 

"  Then  I  will  go  in  search  of  her.  Will  this  never 
end?"  sighed  Hannah  Yates. 

"Stop!  stop!"  cried  Olympia.  "Promise  to  say  no- 
thing of  that  name.  Promise!" 

"  I  am  only  wanting  to  find  the  young  lady  —  not  to 
harm  any  one. 

"  But  it  would  harm  me  if  you  told  that.  Brown ! 
Brown  !  Think  of  Brown  for  a  stage  name !  Can't  you 
understand  that  it  would  be  death  to  me  ?  Half  my  popu- 
larity lies  in  the  fact  that  no  one  can  tell  who  or  what  I 
am.  Now,  do  be  silent,  that  is  a  good  old  soul,  if  it  is  only 
for  her  sake ;  for  you  know,  in  spite  of  the  way  she  has 
served  me,  everything  I  have  or  make  will  go  to  my  child 
in  the  end.  I  am  ready  to  make  it  worth  your  while  to  be 
quiet." 

Here  Olympia  took  out  a  portemonnaie  and  unclasped  it. 
The  old  woman  put  the  glittering  thing  aside  with  her 
hand. 

"  I  do  not  take  money,"  she  said.  "All  I  want  is  to  find 
her.  If  she  is  gone,  I  must  search  farther." 

Then,  with  a  meek  bend  of  the  head,  Mrs.  Yates  left  the 
room  and  the  house. 


Lord  Hilton  went  out  of  that  house,  relieved  by  the 


238  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

denial  of  Olympia  that  Caroline  was  her  daughter,  but  in 
other  respects  cruelly  disappointed.  The  greatest  and  most 
generous  wish  of  his  life  was  to  find  the  young  girl,  and  atone 
for  the  cowardice  which  had  made  him  avoid  her  for  a  time. 
He  had  resolved  that  the  fact  that  she  was  Olympia's  child 
should  not  prevent  him  acting  this  manly  part;  but  when 
that  degradation  was  lifted  from  her  by  the  woman's  own 
words,  his  heart  was  set  free  from  an  intolerable  weight, 
and  went  back  to  its  old  love  with  a  happy  rebound.  He 
remained  in  London  some  days,  spending  the  time  in  vain 
efforts  to  learn  something  of  the  beautiful  fugitive,  and 
then  started  back  to  the  neighborhood  of  Houghton  Castle, 
bitterly  disappointed. 

For  some  distance,  after  he  entered  the  railroad  carriage, 
Lord  Hilton  was  alone ;  but  at  the  junction,  where  he  had 
formerly  met  Lady  Clara  and  her  maid,  a  gentleman  and 
lady  entered  the  carriage,  and  sat  down  opposite  him. 
There  was  something  singular  about  the  lady;  her  large, 
black  eyes  illumined  the  whole  face  with  a  glow  of  proud 
triumph  that  seemed  to  have  uplifted  her  whole  being.  It 
was  this  brilliant  seeming  of  happiness  which  at  first  baffled 
Lord  Hilton ;  for  after  the  lady  had  been  seated  awhile,  she 
probably  began  to  feel  the  restraints  of  a  stranger's  pres- 
ence, for  a  fit  of  thoughtful  lassitude  crept  over  her,  and 
her  eyelids  began  to  droop. 

He  remembered  the  face,  now.  One  night  he  had  seen 
it  at  the  opera,  leaning  against  the  crimson  lining  of  the 
box,  paler  by  far  than  now ;  but  the  beautiful  outlines  were 
the  same,  though  that  face  had  been  still  and  passive,  while 
this  was  irradiated  even  in  its  rest. 

Turning  his  face  from  the  lady,  Lord  Hilton  encountered 
a  face  that  he  knew  in  the  tall  and  distinguished-looking 
man  who  accompanied  her. 


DEFEAT.  239 

"  Lord  Hope,  this  is  a  pleasure,"  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand.  "The  last  I  heard  of  you  was  in  Scotland." 

"Yes,  we  found  the  shooting  good,  and  staid  longer  than, 
usual ;  but  I  fancied  you  were  down  at  the  old  place." 

"  And  so  I  was,  but  these  railways  send  a  man  from  one 
end  of  the  universe  to  another  so  rapidly  that  one  does  not 
know  where  to  date  from.  I  have  been  up  to  London  for  a 
day  or  two,  and  am  on  my  way  back  again." 

Here  Lady  Hope  lifted  her  slumberous  eyelids,  and  was 
introduced. 

The  sweet,  alluring  smile  that  we  have  seen  on  the  face 
of  Rachael  Gloss  had  come  back  to  it  now. 

"  I  should  almost  have  known  Lord  Hilton,"  she  -said, 
"  from  Lady  Clara's  description.  She  was  indeed  fortunate 
in  chancing  upon  you  for  a  travelling  companion." 

"  I  have  that  great  kindness  to  thank  you  for,  Hilton," 
said  Lord  Hope.  "  Clara's  letters  were  full  of  your  adven- 
tures on  the  road  and  at  Houghton.  I  did  not  know  that 
you  had  left  the  neighborhood,  though." 

"I  think  myself  more  than  fortunate,"  said  Hilton,  ad- 
dressing Lady  Hope,"  "  in  having  the  honor  of  introducing 
two  such  ladies  to  the  castle,  for  I  take  it  you  are  going  to 
Houghton." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course ;  it  was  impossible  to  refuse  Lady 
Carset.  We  shall  be  at  the  castle  some  time,  I  am  glad  to 
say." 

How  her  magnificent  eyes  flashed.  The  very  bend  of 
her  head  was  regal,  as  she  thus  announced  a  triumph  she 
had  been  toiling  for  ever  since  she  had  become  Lord  Hope's 
wife. 

The  scorn  of  that  old  woman  at  Houghton,  had  been  the 
bane  of  her  existence.  Like  an  interdict  of  the  Pope  in 
olden  time?,  it  had  kept  her  apart  from  the  people  of  her 
own  rank,  as  an  excommunication  would  have  done  in  past 


240  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

ages.  But  all  this  was  removed.  As  it  would  seem  by  a 
miracle,  the  bitter  prejudices  of  that  old  lady  had  given 
way,  and  through  the  broad  doors  of  Houghton  Castle,  she 
was  invited  to  take  her  place  among  the  peeresses  of  the 
land. 

This  had  brought  back  the  fire  and  bloom  into  Lady 
Hope's  life,  and  when  Lord  Hilton  leaned  out,  as  he  had 
done  with  Lady  Clara,  and  exclaimed,  "  There  is  Hough- 
a  glorious  smile  broke  over  her  features. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   FAMILY   MEETING   AT   HOUGHTON. 

THE  train  which  took  Caroline  and  her  party  down  to 
Houghton,  reached  their  destination  just  as  the  sun  was 
setting  over  the  glorious  old  trees  of  the  park,  and  trem- 
bling in  golden  brightness  in  the  ivy  that  clung  to  those 
twin  towers. 

Scarcely  had  they  left  the  train,  when  a  basket-carriage 
came  dashing  up  to  the  platform,  and  a  young  lady  sprang 
out,  tossing  her  reins  to  a  dainty  little  tiger,  who  sat 
behind,  erect  and  decorous,  knowing  himself  to  be  an  object 
of  general  attention. 

"  So  you  are  really  here.  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you !  All 
right,  this  way — jump  in ;  don't  be  afraid,  the  ponies  are 
gentle  as  gentle  can  be.  Here  we  are,  never  mind  the 
others.  There  is  a  carriage  on  the  way  for  them  ;  but,  of 
course,  I  got  here  first ;  always  do.  Give  me  the  reins,  Joe 
—now  for  it." 

The  little   carriage   wheeled    around,   and   Lady   Clara 


THE     FAMILY     MEETING.  241 

looked  back,  nodding  to  Brown,  as  her  ponies  took  the  road 
in  full  speed. 

"Nice  old  fellow,  isn't  he?  I  am  so  glad  to  get  him 
here,  for  I  am  going  back  on  my  music  terribly." 

"  Did  you  know  he  is  my  father  ?  "  said  Caroline,  in  a 
gentle  voice. 

"No!" 

"  He  is,  indeed.  I  never  learned  it  till  yesterday ;  but  it 
does  not  seem  strange,  for  no  father  was  ever  more  gentle  or 
kind  than  he  has  been  since  the  first  day  I  knew  him." 

"And  Olympia — she  is  your  mother,  uo  doubt?" 

"  Yes ;  she  is  my  mother." 

"All  right,  we  needn't  talk  of  her!  it  isn't  of  the  least 
consequence.  You  must  not  speak  so  sadly.  I  dare  say 
she  is  a  good  enough  person  ;  but  you  don't  know  bow  to 
manage  her.  For  my  part,  I  rather  like  her ;  but  the  old 
gentleman  is  just  lovely !  I  am  glad  he  is  your  father ; 
because  he  can  take  care  of  us  so  properly,  and  grand- 
mamma will  like  it,  I  know.  I  have  got  you  a  chamber 
next  to  mine.  Our  dressing-rooms  open  into  each  other, 
and  they  are  both  near  grandmamma's  apartments.  Dear 
old  lady,  she  is  just  the  kindest,  sweetest,  loveliest  mite  of 
a  woman  you  ever  saw;  like  a  darling  old  fairy.  Won't 
you  love  her  ?  " 

They  drove  along  now  for  some  distance  in  silence ;  but 
as  they  mounted  to  the  uplands,  where  Houghton  stood, 
Caroline  began  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  the  scenery, 
which  was  both  grand  and  beautiful  in  that  region.  Away 
toward  the  horizon,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  valley,  was 
some  large  building,  whose  gray  walls  and  oriel  windows 
were  just  now  burning  in  the  golden  fires  of  a  magnificent 
sunset. 

"What  place  is  that?"  said  Clara,  repeating  the  ques- 
tion her  companion  had  asked,  "  Oh,  that  is  Keath  Hall, 


242  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

and  may  some  day  belong  to  Lord  Hilton,  a  friend  of  ours." 

Caroline  felt  her  breath  taken  away,  she  had  no  power 
to  speak,  while  Lady  Clara  sat  smiling  pleasantly  to  her- 
self. The  poor  girl  felt  like  springing  out  of  the  carriage, 
and  fleeing  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  rather  than 
be  in  the  neighborhood  with  a  man  who  had  scorned  her  so. 

"  Lord  Hilton  is  not  there  now,"  said  Clara,  with  the 
innocent  quietness  of  a  kitten;  "something  has  taken  him 
to  London  or  Italy,  I  believe ;  but  he  is  very  pleasant,  and 
I  like  him  well  enough  to  be  sorry  about  his  going." 

Caroline  breathed  again  ;  but  her  face  was  very  sorrow- 
ful and  her  heart  heavy,  during  the  rest  of  the  drive. 

The  size  and  splendor  of  that  vast  building  almost  terri- 
fied the  girl,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  that  little  cedar 
cottage.  She  gave  no  indication  of  this  in  her  mnnner, 
but  walked  by  the  side  of  her  friend  through  that  spacious 
hall,  with  its  bronze  statues,  suits  of  armor  and  bossed 
shields,  as  if  no  meaner  roof  had  ever  sheltered  her. 

"  Come,"  said  Clara,  as  the  j'oung  traveller  took  off  her 
tiny  hat,  and  began  to  smooth  the  hair  back  from  her  tem- 
ples. "  I  am  so  impatient  to  have  grandmamma  see  you. 
That  will  do — that  will  do.  Come,  now." 

The  two  girls  went  out  together,  Clara  leading  the  way, 
and  directly  stood  in  the  dim  light  of  Lady  Carset's  cham- 
ber. 

"  Grandmamma,  I  have  brought  my  friend  to  pay  her 
respects,"  said  Clara ;  "  only  to  pay  her  respects,  for,  of 
course,  she  is  famished  ;  but  I  felt  how  glad  you  would  be, 
and  brought  her  direct!}'  up  here." 

The  old  countess  arose  from  her  chair,  and  came  forward 
holding  out  her  hand.  She  did,  indeed,  seem  like  a  fairy 
godmother,  with  that  soft  lace  quivering  over  her  snow- 
white  hair,  and  those  great  diamonds  blazing  on  her  tiny 
hands. 


THE     FAMILY     MEETING.  243 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Miss — Miss — " 

"  Miss  Brown,  grandmamma." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  well,  I  am  very  glad  to  welcome  you,  Miss 
Brown.  They  tell  me  you  have  a  fine  voice.  I  should  like 
to  hear  it  some  day,  when  you  are  not  tired." 

"  If  my  voice  will  give  you  pleasure,  lady,  I  shall,  for 
the  first  time  iu  my  life,  be  grateful  for  it,"  said  Caroline, 
so  impressed  by  this  sweet  old  lady's  kindness,  that  she 
longed  to  throw  both  arms  about  her. 

"What,  what?  I  did  not  hear  distinctly.  Oh,  it  is  the 
voice  they  tell  me  of,  which  thrills  the  heart  with  its  sweet- 
ness ;  was  not  that  what  you  said  of  it,  Clara  ?  No  won- 
der people  like  it.  I  do." 

The  old  lady  still  held  Caroline's  hand — her  delicate  fin- 
gers clung  to  it,  with  the  loving  tenacity  of  a  child.  She 
looked  up  to  the  beautiful  face  with  eager,  wistful  curiosity ; 
but  the  light  always  came  dimly  into  that  chamber,  and  ita 
rich  draperies  of  lace  and  brocade  threw  their  shadows  over 
Caroline ;  besides,  those  old  eyes  were  dim  with  age,  or  she 
might  have  been  troubled  that  such  dangerous  beauty 
should  come  into  her  house  in  the  form  of  a  dependant. 
As  it  was,  she  allowed  the  two  girls  to  depart,  without 
dreaming  that  a  more  beautiful  woman  than  her  grandchild 
had  almost  been  put  upon  a  level  with  her. 

Two  or  three  days  after  this,  Lord  and  Lady  Hope  arrived 
at  the  castle,  and  the  old  countess,  for  the  first  time,  saw  the 
woman  who  wore  the  coronet  which  had  once  belonged  to 
her  child.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  that  proud  lady  —  for 
now  you  could  decide  that  she  had  been  very  proud — pre- 
paring herself  to  receive  this  woman,  whom  she  had  hated 
and  wronged-  so  grievously.  She  stood  up  in  her  tower- 
room  when  Rachael  entered  it,  her  black  satin  dress  trail- 
ing far  out  upon  the  floor,  the  yellow  old  lace  fastened  ovef 
15 


244  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

her  bosom  with  a  cluster  of  diamonds,  and  a  bankerchief  of 
delicate  lace  in  her  band. 

There  was  a  little  more  motion  of  the  head  than  usual, 
and  that  was  all  the  evidence  she  gave  of  extraordinary 
emotion. 

Lady  Hope  came  to  the  door,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her 
husband  ;  but,  on  the  threshold,  she  abandoned  his  support, 
and  came  forward  by  his  side,  apparently  calm  and  self-pos- 
sessed ;  but  a  proud  fire  shone  in  those  black  eyes,  which 
would  not  be  quenched. 

"I  have  sent  for  you,  Lady  Hope,  because  I  thought  that 
the  most  open  and  honorable  way  of  acknowledging  the 
wrong  I  have  done  you,  and  of  asking  jrour  forgiveness." 

The  old  countess  folded  her  arms  over  her  bosom,  and 
bent,  in  her  proud  humility,  before  that  beautiful  woman 
whom  she  could  never,  never  love. 

Rachael  Gloss  forced  back  the  triumph  that  swelled 
haughtily  in  her  bosom,  for  the  old  lady's  acknowledgment 
fired  her  heart  like  burning  incense ;  but  she  bowed  her 
head,  as  if  she  had  committed  the  fault,  and  turning  to  her 
husband,  appealed  to  him  : 

"  I  cannot — I  have  no  language  in  which  to  say  how  this 
kindness  overwhelms  me.  Pray  tell  her  from  this  hour  I 
forget  that  she  has  not  always  thought  so  kindly  of  me  as  I 
have  deserved." 

Lord  Hope  was  greatly  agitated.  The  keen  e}-es  of  that 
old  lady,  as  they  turned  upon  his  face,  troubled  him.  His 
very  lips  were  white  as  he  attempted  to  open  them,  not  to 
utter  the  elegant  speech  suggested  by  his.  wife,  for  his  heart 
eeemed  to  break  forth  in  a  single  sentence  : 

^  Countess,  have  the  justice  to  blame  me  if  any  wrong 
has  been  done  to  you  or  yours.  As  for  this  lady,  no  more 
devoted  mother  ever  liyed  than  she  has  been  to  your  daugh- 
ter's child  1" 


THE     FAMILY     MEETING.  245 

A  burst  of  sobs  arose  from  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and 
Lady  Clara  came  forward,  her  face  wet  with  tears,  her 
mouth  quivering. 

"  Indeed,  indeed  she  has !  Oh,  grandmamma,  do  love 
her,  because  she  has  been  so  good  to  me  and  everybody 
else ! " 

Lady  Carset  reached  forth  her  hand  gently,  and  with 
delicate  cordiality;  but  there  was  no  yearning  of  the  heart 
there,  such  as  had  marked  her  reception  of  that  young  girl. 

Lady  Hope  cared  very  little  for  this.  She  had  attained 
the  great  aim  of  her  life  in  this  recognition  ;  anything  like 
warmth  of  affection  would  have  been  as  irksome  to  her  as  it 
was  impossible  to  the  old  countess.  She  took  the  little 
hand,  pressed  her  lips  upon  it,  and  retreated  from  the  room, 
keeping  her  face  toward  the  old  lady,  as  if  she  were  retiring 
from  the  presence  of  a  queen. 

The  old  countess  stood  up  bravely,  and  bent  her  delicate 
person  with  the  exquisite  grace  of  a  lady  of  the  olden  time, 
as  her  guests  disappeared.  The  moment  they  were  gone 
she  turned  to  seek  her  couch  ;  but  her  limbs  lost  their 
strength,  her  feet  became  entangled  in  the  satin  train,  and 
she  would  have  fallen  to  the  carpet  but  for  Lady  Clara, 
who  sprang  forward  and  held  her  up. 

"  Dear  me,  how  you  tremble  !  Oh,  grandmamma,  don't ! 
I  never  saw  you  cry  before.  It  breaks  my  heart !  " 

The  poor  old  la'dy  was  trembling  in  all  her  limbs,  and 
crying  like  a  child.  It  had  been  a  hard  cross  for  her  fee- 
bleness to  take  up  when  she  admitted  that  man  and  woman 
to  her  presence.  It  seemed  as  if  her  own  dead  child  had 
stood  between  them,  and  with  shadowy  arms  striven  to 
push  them  apart. 

"  I  have  done  no  more  than  my  duty,''  she  said,  with  a 
piteous  smiie.  "  It  was  hard,  very  hard.  Still  a  Carset 


246  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

must  not  allow  any  wrong  to  go  unatoned  for,  and  about 
those  diamonds  I  did  wrong  her." 

Clara  did  not  speak.  She  was  frightened  by  the  agita- 
tion into  which  this  scene  had  thrown  the  old  lady,  and  only 
besought  her  to  rest ;  but  strong,  nervous  excitement  is  not 
so  easily  pacified.  The  countess  conquered  her  tears,  but  the 
couch  shook  under  her  nervous  trembling.  Then  Clara  ran 
to  her  own  apartments,  and  came  back  to  an  adjoining 
room  with  Caroline,  whose  voice  had  a  power  of  soothing 
which  even  excitement  could  not  resist. 

"  Begin  to  sing — something  low  and  sweet,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  I  will  leave  the  door  ajar." 

Then  Clara  stole  back  to  her  grandmother,  and  directly  a 
soft  strain  of  music  stole  into  the  room,  almost  unnoticed  at 
first,  like  the  perfume  of  flowers,  but  growing  into  harmo- 
nies so  fall  and  swelling,  that  the  whole  atmosphere  seemed 
flooded  with  it. 

The  old  countess  listened ;  the  faint  breath  paused  upon 
her  lips,  her  eyelids  began  to  quiver,  and  her  little  withered 
hands  stole  up  to  her  bosom  and  rested  there  in  a  tremulous 
clasp. 

"  It  is  a  heavenly  voice.  My  child  is  not  angry  with  me. 
Oh  !  how  sweetly  she  tells  me  so  !  how  sweet — how  sweet !" 

And  so  she  fell  asleep  after  awhile — all  the  trembling 
gone,  all  the  pain  swept  from  those  delicate  features.  Then 
Caroline  came  in  aud  sat  down  by  Lady  Clara,  smiling  over 
the  gentle  work  she  had  done.  The  old  lady  opened  her 
eyes  once,  anil,  reaching  out  her  hand  to  Caroline,  who  sat 
nearest,  murmured  ; 

"  You  are  not  offended  with  me,  child  ?." 

"  She  takes  you  for  me,"  whispered  Clara,  "  and  is 
dreaming,  I  think.  Let  us  be  very  still." 

So  the  two  girls  sat  together,  and  guarded  the  gentle 
slumber  into  which  the  old  countess  had  fallen,  with  loving 


DOWN    AMONG    THE    FEENS    AGAIN.       247 

solicitude.  She  seemed  to  feel  their  loving  presence  even 
in  sleep,  for  a  heavenly  smile  stole  over  her  face,  and  occa- 
sionally she  whispered  as  if  answering  some  pleasant  voice 
that  came  stealing  through  her  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DOWN   AMONG   THE   FERNS   AGAIN. 

LADY  CARSET  had  extended  numerous  invitations  to  her 
old  friends,  and  it  was  understood  that  Lady  Hope  would 
represent  the  head  of  the  house  and  do  the  honors.  This 
compliment  was  partly  in  atonement  for  the  wrong  that  had 
been  done  Kachael  Gloss,  and  partly  from  the  infirmities  of 
extreme  old  age,  which  rendered  it  even  dangerous  for  the 
old  countess  to  entertain  her  guests  in  person. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Lady  Hope  was  in  her  true 
element.  The  weight  of  an  intolerable  restraint  had  been 
lifted  from  her.  She  was  mistress  of  one  of  the  most 
splendid  establishments  in  all  England,  not  even  for  a  time, 
for  would  it  not  descend  unbroken  to  a  step-daughter  who 
worshipped  her?  Was  not  the  will  which  settled  this 
already  made,  and  she  as  good  as  mistress  there  during  her 
whole  life  ?  She  had  thought  Oakhurst  a  noble  possession, 
but  it  dwindled  into  insignificance  when  compared  with  the 
splendor  of  Houghton  Castle.  Very  seldom  in  the  world 
had  the  ambition  of  an  aspiring  woman  been  so  suddenly 
and  completely  gratified.  It  bad  been  all  like  a  dream  to 
her,  but  now  she  felf  the  reality,  with  an  exultation  of 
spirit  that  took  ten  years  from  her  person,  and  a  weird 
burden  from  her  heart.  This  great  happiness  sprang  out 
of  two  grand  passions — love  and  ambition. 


248  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

The  first  was  gratified  in  this  —  Lord  Hope  was  a 
changed  man — a  shadow  had  been  swept  from  his  path — 
hidden  shame  had  changed  to  unchecked  pride.  The 
woman  he  had  married,  because  of  an  overpowering  love, 
was  now  in  a  position  to  fascinate  society  with  her  beauty, 
and  win  its  homage  with  her  genius.  They  had  come  out 
from  the  shadow  and  were  in  the  broad  sunshine. 

All  his  old  fondness  returned ;  she  could  tell  it  by  the 
elasticity  of  his  step,  by  the  proud  uplifting  of  his  head,  by 
the  very  tones  of  his  voice. 

She  had  thirsted  for  greatness,  and  it  was  hers.  She  had 
pined  for  the  old  love,  and  it  had  come  back  to  her.  No 
wo-nder  the  carriage  of  this  woman  was  lofty,  and  her  voice 
full  of  music.  Ifo  wonder  that  the  rich  coloring  of  her 
youth  returned,  and  her  eyes  took  back  their  velvety 
softness. 

At  this  period  Rachael  Gloss  was  at  the  pinnacle  of  her 
hopes.  She  could  scarcely  understand  that  this  lofty  posi- 
tion had  not  always  belonged  to  her.  To  dispense  almost 
regal  hospitality  came  to  her  as  the  most  natural  thing  on 
earth,  and  as  each  day  brought  some  noble  guest  to  the 
castle,  she  received  them  with  mofe  finished  grace  and  a 
deeper  consciousness  of  power. 

Of  course,  at  this  time,  Lady  Clara  was  most  frequently 
with  her  stepmother,  for  the  old  countess  would  have  it  so, 
and  Caroline  took  her  place  very  frequently  in  the  tower 
room,  where  she  felt  herself  to  be  more  than  welcome. 
Indeed,  the  old  lady  seemed  almost  as  fond  of  her  as  she 
was  of  the  bright,  generous  heiress.  Caroline  would  not 
consent  to  mingle  with  the  gay  crowd  which  kept  up  a 
brilliant  carnival  all  day  long  in  the  park,  in  the  vast 
drawing-room,  everywhere,  except  in  that  one  old  tower 
where  the  countess  spent  her  quiet  life.  At  the  grand  fes- 
tival she  had  resolved  to  come  forth  and  do  the  honors  of 


DOWN    AMONG    THE    FERNS    AGAIN.      249 

her  own  castle,  but  until  then  she  contented  herself  by 
receiving  her  guests,  and  then  pleasantly  turning  them 
over  to  the  splendid  woman  who  filled  her  place  with  such 
consummate  abilit}'. 

This  arrangement  threw  Caroline  almost  constantly  into 
the  seclusion  of  the  tower  apartments,  and  it  so  chanced 
that  she  had  not  once  met  Lady  Hope,  who  was,  in  fact, 
unconscious  of  her  presence  in  the  castle. 

Clara  remembered,  with  some  trepidation,  the  rebuke 
which  had  been  given  her,  regarding  her  liking  for  this  girl, 
and,  not  caring  to  provoke  a  repetition,  did  not  mention  the 
fact  of  her  residence  at  Houghton.  Thus  it  chanced  that 
neither  Lord  Hope  or  his  wife  knew  of  the  independent 
step  their  daughter  had  taken. 

Lady  Clara  had  evidently  something  on  her  mind  one 
day,  for  she  gave  up  a  ride  to  the  hunt,  a  thing  she  had  set 
her  heart  upon,  and  came  after  Caroline  to  take  a  long  walk 
in  the  park  with  her.  Caroline  went  gladly,  for  her  heart 
was  aching  under  its  broken  hopes,  and  as  the  excitement 
connected  with  her  new  home  died  out,  a  sense  of  bereave- 
ment and  desolation  came  back.  She  was,  indeed,  very 
wretched,  and  Lady  Clara  saw  it.  Perhaps  this  was  the 
reason  she  took  her  proteg^  out  for  that  pleasant  walk  in 
the  park. 

When  the  two  girls  reached  that  hollow  through  which 
the  brook  ran,  and  where  the  ferns  grew,  Clara  became  sud- 
denly conscious  that  Caroline  must  be  tired. 

Perhaps  she  was.  Caroline,  in  her  listlessness,  did  not 
care  to  ask  herself  about  it,  but  sat  down  on  a  fragment  of 
rock,  as  Clara  directed  her,  and  fell  to  watching  the  brook 
with  her  sad  eyes,  as  it  crept  through  the  ferns  and  gurgled 
over  the  pebbles  at  her  feet. 

Meantime  Clara  had  wandered  quietly  up  the  hollow,  and 
disappeared  in  search  of  something  which  grew  a  little  way 


250  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

off,  she  said.  So  Caroline  was  not  to  move  till  she  came 
back,  unless  she  wished  to  be  lost  utterly. 

Caroline  liked  the  solitude,  and  the  cool  ripple  of  the 
brook  soothed  her.  She  was  rather  sorry  when  a  footstep 
on  the  forest  turf  heralded  the  return  of  her  friend;  but  she 
looked  up  with  a  welcoming  smile,  and  saw  Lord  Hilton, 
her  Italian  teacher — the  man  who  had  told  her  more  than 
once  that  he  loved  her  better  than  his  own  life ! 

She  did  not  cry  out,  or  rise  from  her  hard  seat,  but  sat 
still,  looking  at  him  in  mournful  quietness.  What  was  he, 
what  could  he  ever  be,  to  her?  A  nobleman  of  the  realm, 
and  the  Olympia's  daughter  ! 

He  came  down  the  bank  and  seated  himself  by  her  side. 

"  Caroline,  have  you  no  welcome  to  give  me  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  gleam  of  excitement  in  the  sad- 
ness of  her  eyes. 

"  You  know  who  I  am,  and  I,  alas !  know  that  you  are 
Lord  Hilton,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  pathetic  pride. 
"  How  can  I  welcome  you  ?  " 

"  Have  you,  then,  ceased  to  love  me,  Caroline  ?  " 

Her  pale  face  flushed,  her  eyes  kindled. 

"  Is  this  a  question  to  ask  me  ?  " 

"  Yes — because  I  have  never  ceased  to  love  you,  and 
never  shall." 

"  Not  when  you  are  certain  that  I  am  the  daughter  of — 
of — an  actress  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  were  the  daughter  of  fifty  actresses,  Caro- 
line !  I  have  been  searching  for  you,  in  London,  every- 
where. More  than  once  I  inquired  at  Olympia's  door." 

"  You  ! " 

"  Indeed  I  did ;  but  she  would  give  me  no  information." 

"  She  could  not.     I  left  no  word." 

"  And  now  that  I  have  found  }*ou,  Caroline  ?  " 

"My  name  is  Brown,  Lord  Hilton.     I  am,  in  truth,  the 


DOWN    AMONG    THE    FERNS    AGAIN.      251 

daughter  of  that  good  man  whom  you  supposed  my  father." 

"And  of  Olympia  ?  " 

"Yes,  they  were  married  and — and  divorced  before  she 
became  celebrated  and  took  the  name  of  Olympia." 

Caroline  said  all  this  with  a  feeling  of  self-torture  that 
took  all  the  color  from  her  face.  The  love  of  Lord  Hilton 
seemed  an  impossibility  to  her,  and  she  gave  him  the  hard 
truth,  under  which  her  heart  was  writhing,  without  a  reser- 
vation of  pride  or  delicacy. 

"  It  is  of  very  little  consequence  whose  daughter  you  are," 
said  the  young  man,  tenderly,  "  so  long  as  I  love  you,  and 
am,  with  God's  blessing,  resolved  to  make  you  my  wife." 

"  Resolved  to  make  me  your  wife  ! " 

The  words  came  one  by  one  from  her  lips,  in  measured 
sadness.  She  knew  t-he  thing  to  be  impossible,  and  tittered 
the  words  as  if  she  had  buried  some  beloved  object,  and  was 
mourning  over  it. 

"  I  repeat  it,  Caroline.  There  is  no  change  in  my  love — 
no  change  in  my  determination.  All  that  I  felt  for  you  in 
our  sweet  Italian  life  lives  with  me  yet." 

Caroline  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  him.  An  expression 
of  pain  broke  through  their  mournfulness. 

"  It  was  impossible  ! " 

That  was  all  she  said ;  but  he  knew  how  much  agony  the 
words  had  cost  by  the  whiteness  of  her  lips. 

"  But  why,"  he  pleaded,  "  if  we  love  each  other,  for  you 
love  me  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  love  you  !  " 

Hilton  threw  his  arms  around  her,  and  kissed  her  cold 
face  in  a  transport  of  thankfulness. 

"  Then,  why  not  ?  ^  We  were  betrothed  in  Italy,  when  I 
believed  you  Mr.  Brown's  daughter,  as  I  do  now." 

"  But  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  an  English  noble- 
man, and  heir  to  a  large  estate." 


252  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  Is  that  a  crime,  Caroline?  Besides,  you  need  not  trou- 
ble yourself  about  the  estate.  When  I  ask  you  in  mar- 
riage, that  is  given  up." 

She  turned  to  him  suddenly,  and  held  out  her  hands. 

"  Are  you,  indeed,  ready  to  give  up  so  much  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  ready  to  give  up  everything  but  my  honor,"  was 
his  reply. 

"  I  am  only  a  poor  girl,  with  no  honor  to  hold  but  my 
own  ;  but  you  shall  not  find  me  less  generous  than  you  are." 

He  kissed  her  hands  in  passionate  gratitude. 

"Ah,  darling,  1  knew — I  knew  that  it  must  end  so." 

She  forced  her  hands  from  his  clasp. 

"You  misunderstand  me.  I  love  you  better  than  myself! 
better  than  my  life  !  Do  believe  it !  And  for  that  reason 
we  part,  now  and  forever!  I  could  not  live  through 
another  hour  like  this  !" 

"Caroline!" 

"  I  know  it  is  hard ;  my  own  heart  is  pleading  against 
it.  But  there  is  something  which  forbids  me  to  listen." 

"  Caroline,  I  will  not  permit  this !  It  is  unnatural, 
cruel!" 

"  I  know  it !  I  know  it !  Still  it  is  our  destiny.  Noth- 
ing that  has  been  said,  or  can  be  said,  will  change  the  fact 
of  your  birth  and  mine.  Do  not,  I  implore  you,  press  this 
matter  farther.  It  is  hard  to  fight  against  my  own  heart 
and  you.  Spare  me  and  let  me  go  ! " 

Caroline  arose  and  absolutely  fled  from  the  man  she 
loved.  He  did  not  attempt  to  detain  her,  but  walked 
away  slowly,  half  offended — but  more  resolved  on  making 
her  his  wife  than  ever. 


OUT     AMONG     THE     TREES.  253 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

OUT   AMONG  THE   TREES. 

NOT  far  from  the  glen,  loitering  up  and  down  a  secluded 
forest-path,  Caroline  met  Lady  Clara,  and,  by  her  side,  the 
young  man  whom  she  had  met  that  night  at  Olympia's 
supper  party.  This  took  her  by  surprise,  and  she  turned 
into  another  path,  where  a  sheltered  garden  seat  invited 
her  to  rest. 

Lady  Clara  had  not  seen  her  companion,  and  was  too 
much  occupied  for  any  thought  regarding  her.  She  was 
talking  earnestly  to  Hepworth  Gloss,  who  had  refused  Lady 
Carset's  invitation  to  take  up  his  quarters  at  the  castle,  but 
was  staying  at  the  public  house  down  in  the  village,  until 
after  the  festival,  at  which  Clara  still  refused  to  be 
introduced  as  sole  heiress  of  the  broad  domain  on  which 
they  stood. 

"  Let  us  be  patient,"  she  said.  "  I  cannot  distress  this 
kind  old  lady  while  she  is  so  disturbed  and  so  feeble. 
Let  things  take  their  course  till  she  is  strong  enough  to 
endure  this  additional  agitation.  She  was  greatly  pleased 
with  you  that  morning  when  you  called.  By  degrees  she 
will  learn  to  like  you  ;  and  when  she  finds  that  Lord  Hilton 
has  no  idea  of  joining  the  estates  by  a  marriage  with  her 
heiress — a  thing  which  I  know  she  has  at  heart,  but  she  has, 
as  yet,  only  given  me  warning  by  most  delicate  insinua- 
tions— your  proposal  will  not  disturb  her  so  much." 

Hepworth  Closs  had  learned  the  great  lessons  of  patience, 
and  loved  the  3'oung  girl  by  his  side  too  sincerely  for  any 
protest  against  what  was,  iu  fact,  a  necessary  delay ;  so  he 
answered  her  kindly ; 


254  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  So  long  as  we  are  not  entirely  separated,  Clara,  I  can 
bear  anything,  even  your  father's  hostility,  which,  after  all, 
is  but  natural." 

"  But  that,  too,  will  be  swept  away  by  grandmamma's 
consent ;  and  I  am  sure  she  loves  me  so  much  that,  with 
patience,  that  may  be  obtained.  Besides,  there  is  your 
sister,  eager  for  your  interests  and  pining  for  your  society." 

"  Poor  Rachael !  How  does  she  bear  the  honors  heaped 
upon  her  up  yonder." 

"  Like  an  empress.  Indeed,  I  never  saw  her  really  happy 
before.  My  father  has  all  at  once  taken  to  adoring  her. 
No  wonder  !  Happiness  has  made  her  so  grandly  beautiful, 
so  dashingty  brilliant  in  all  she  says  and  does.  The  new 
duke,  who  has  just  come  down,  is  so  taken  with  her  that  he 
scarcely  leaves  her  side." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  exclaimed  Gloss.  "If  ever  a 
woman  was  born  to  control  society,  it  is  Rachael.  Does 
she  know  I  am  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  told  her  yet.  It  will  be  time  enough  when 
all  this  tumult  about  the  heirship  has  abated.  And  perhaps 
it  will  be  best  to  let  papa  find  it  out  in  some  natural  way, 
when  he  will,  I  hope,  be  anxious  to  recognize  you  as  Lady 
Carset's  guest,  and  make  atonement  for  his  harshness  at 
Oakhurst." 

"What  a  wise  little  diplomat  you  have  become,  Clara !  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  It  is  just  beginning  to  dawn  on  me 
that  rash  action  is  the  worst  kind  of  selfishness;  how,  just 
by  a  little  kindness  and  a  great  deal  of  love,  I,  a  harem- 
scarem  girl,  who  never  stopped  to  think  in  my  life  before, 
have  reconciled  an  old  family  feud  of  fifteen  3'ears  standing, 
brought  Lady  Hope  triumphantly  to  Houghton,  and  swept 
ever  so  many  cares  out  of  my  father's  way,  besides  all  the 
little  pleasantness  that  my  coming  has  given  to  the  old 
countess.  I  wouldn't  boast  iu  this  way  to  any  one  else, 


OUT     AMONG     THE     TKEES.  255 

Hepwortb  ;  but  these  things  make  me  proud  and  happy,  so 
I  tell  them  to  you,  as  I  whisper  it  to  myself.  When  I 
first  came  here,  it  was  with  the  resolution  of  appealing  to 
grandmamma  against  Lord  Hope's  opposition  to  us,  and,  if 
she  went  against  me,  to  throw  up  everything,  and  set  them 
all  at  defiance.  But  one  must  have  a  hard  nature  to  attempt 
such  harsh  measures  with  that  sweet  old  lady.  It  would 
break  my  heart  to  leave  her — wound  my  conscience  to  give 
her  a  moment's  pain.  As  for  her  title  and  her  wealth,  I  tell 
you,  honestly,  they  are  encumbrances  I  do  not  want.  A 
thousand  times,  rather,  would  I  have  her  consent,  with  that 
of  my  father,  and  freedom  to  go  with  yon  where  we  pleased. 
I  want  no  greatness  or  power  for  myself,  unless  it  comes 
through  the  man  I  love;  but  for  you,  Hepworth,  I  am  ambi- 
tions, and  would  rather  a  thousand  times  go  to  America,  and 
share  the  honors  which  your  own  genius  would  be  sure  to 
win,  as  plain  Mrs.  Closs,  than  stay  here  as  mistress  of 
Houghton,  a  countess  in  my  own  right,  and  you  only  recog- 
nized as  the  husband  of  Lady  Carset." 

The  hot  color  came  and  went  in  her  lover's  face  as  Clara 
spoke  out  the  thoughts  that  haunted  her  about  the  future — 
his  own  thoughts  expressed  through  her  girlish  lips.  He 
turned  suddenly,  took  her  hands,  and  kissed  them  both 
with  passionate  warmth. 

"  Oh,  if  they  would  but  give  you  up  with  nothing  but 
this  glorious  freedom,  I  should  not  have  another  wish  on 
earth  ;  but  they  are  about  to  bury  you  so  deep  beneath 
their  wealth  and  titles  that  I  may  not  be  able  to  find  my 
love  when  I  ask  for  her." 

Clara  smiled. 

11  You  shall  never  -ask  for  me  that  I  will  not  come. 
There  is  not  in  all  England  wealth  or  honors  enough  to  buy 
me  out  of  your  reach.  Only  let  us  wait  patiently  a  little 
while  longer." 


256  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"  Sweet  child !  generous  woman  !  Jacob  never  served 
more  faithfully  for  his  love  than  I  am  willing  to  wait  for 
mine.  Only  this,  we  must  not  be  kept  apart." 

"  We  will  not  be  kept  apart.  Our  souls  belong  to  each 
other.  No  person  on  earth  shall  enthrall  them." 

"  Then  I  am  content ;  all  the  more  because  I  know  what 
utter  desolation  absence  is.  Ah,  Clara,  it  seemed  like  an 
opening  from  Paradise  when  yon  wrote  me  to  come  here ! 
Heaven  knows  where  I  should  have  been  now  but  for  that 
blessed  note  ! " 

"  But  you  are  here,  safe  and  well,  for  which  the  good  God 
be  thanked !  Everything  has  happened  without  disappoint- 
ment to  any  one,  unless  it  may  be  Caroline's  mother,  the 
handsome  Olympia.  She  is  furious,  Lord  Hilton  tells  me. 
I  am  a  little  sorry  for  that  poor  woman.  Of  course,  she 
wasn't  just  as  she  should  be  to  Caroline,  but  I  can't  help 
liking  her,  after  all.  There  that  dear  girl  sits,  like  patience 
on  a  monument,  waiting  for  me.  I  wonder  what  has  become 
of  Lord  Hilton  ?  " 

Here  Lady  Clara  and  her  lover  separated  ;  she  joined  her 
friend,  whose  garments  were  visible  through  the  green  of 
the  leaves,  and  he  walked  toward  the  village,  very  happy^ 
notwithstanding  the  uncertainty  of  his  affairs. 

As  Hepworth  entered  his  room  at  the  inn,  he  was  accosted 
with  boisterous  familiarity  by  Mr.  Stacy,  the  New  York 
alderman,  who  expressed  the  broadest  astonishment  at  his 
presence  there,  and  was  anxious  to  know  if  it  would  break 
up  his  own  mission  to  the  castle. 

Hepworth  reassured  him  on  this  point,  and  gave  some 
additional  directions,  which  the  alderman  accepted  with  nods 
and  chuckles  of  self-sufficiency,  that  were  a  little  repulsive  to 
the  younger  and  more  refined  man. 

"  I  understand  Matthew  Stacy  is  to  be  '  A  Number  One' 


OUT     AMONG     THE     TREES.  257 

in  the  whole  business — sole  agent  of  her  mother's  trust ;  by- 
the-way,  who  was  her  mother?" 

There  was  a  shrewd  twinkle  in  Stacy's  eye  as  he  asked 
this,  which  Hepworth  comprehended  and  met  at  once. 

"  Her  mother  was  the  first  Lady  Hope,  the  only  daughter 
of  Lady  Carset,  up  there  at  the  castle.  She  died  in  America 
while  travelling  there  with  her  husband,  about  fifteen  years 
ago." 

All  this  was  plain  and  simple.  The  alderman  drew  a 
deep  breath,  and  the  shrewd  twinkle  went  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  he  said,  "  I  was  thinking  of  that 
poor  murdered  lady,  Mrs.  Hurst.  You  know  there  was  a 
little  girl  at  the  inquest  that  would  have  been  about  the  age 
of  this  young  lady  ;  for  I  took  a  peep  into  the  peerages,  after 
you  opened  this  matter,  and  I  thought  possibly  that  Mrs. 
Hurst  and  Lady  Hope  might  be — you  understand  ?  " 

"  What !     Identical !     Did  you  mean  that  ?  " 

"Well,  no,  not  exactly  identical — she  was  respectable 
enough — but  the  same  person." 

"  But  you  forgot,  Mr.  Stacy,  telling  me  that  the  young 
lady  who  appeared  as  a  singer  in  the  opera  that  night  was 
that  very  child." 

"By  Jingo  !  you  are  right !  I  did  that  same.  Of  course 
—of  course.  What  was  I  thinking  of?  How  she  did  sing, 
too ;  ten  thousand  mocking  birds  in  her  throat,  all  piping 
away  at  once.  What  was  I  thinking  of?  Now,  Mr.  Gloss, 
while  I'm  gone — for  I  mean  to  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot — 
just  have  the  goodness  to  look  in  on  Mrs.  S.,  she  will  feel  it 
a  compliment,  being  a  trifle  homesick  and  lonesome  down 
here.  But  tell  her  to  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip ;  there  isn't 
many  ladies,-not  even  3'our  barronessers  and  duohessers,  that 
shall  outshine  her  at  the  grand  party  up  yonder." 

"  The  grand  party  !  "  repeated  Hepworth,  in  amazement. 
"  Are  you  invited  there  ?  " 


iJ58  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"Not  just  yet,  but  of  course  I  mean  to  be.  One  good 
turn  deserves  another,  Mr.  Hepworth — I  beg  pardon — Mr. 
Gloss,  and  if  I  take  this  pile  up  to  Castle  Houghton,  it  is 
no  more  than  fair  that  the  young  lady  gives  me  an  invite 
for  myself  and  Mrs.  S.  Turn  about  is  fair  play,  all  the 
world  over,  Mr.  Gloss,  and  I  don't  mean  to  lose  my  chances. 
Some  men  would  ask  money  for  all  this,  but  I  am  ready  to 
put  up  with  an  invite.  Mrs.  S.  has  set  her  heart  on  it. 
Ask  her  to  let  you  see  that  red  velvet  dress  that  she  got 
made  on  purpose,  and  the  panier.  Don't,  by  any  means, 
forget  to  ask  her  to  show  you  the  panier ;  it's  tremendous, 
I  tell  you." 

Mr.  Stacy  stood  for  a  moment  longer,  shaking  the«  links 
of  his  gold  chain  up  and  down  in  one  hand,  as  if  he  had 
something  else  to  say,  but  not  remembering  what  it  was,  he 
disappeared,  and  was  soon  driving,  in  the  best  carriage  he 
could  obtain,  toward  Houghton  Castle. 

Lady  Clara  was  in  her  own  room  scolding,  persuading, 
and  comforting  Caroline,  when  a  card  was  brought  to  her, 
and  she  read,  with  astonishment,  the  name  of  "Matthew 
Stacy,  Esq.,  Ex- Alderman,  New  York." 

"  Who  is  this  person  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Haven't  the  least  hidea,  my  lady  ;  he  asked  for  yer  led- 
dyship,  and  would,  on  no  account,  see  any  one  else,  yer 
leddyship." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  In  the  small  drawing-room,  yer  leddyship." 

Clara  went  down,  excited  by  the  painful  curiosity  which 
always  disturbed  her  when  she  met  any  person  from  Amer- 
ica. What  could  he  want  ? 

Alderman  Stacy  arose  as  she  entered  the  room  where  he 
was  sitting,  and  made  three  profound  bg,ws  in  the  different 
stages  of  her  advance  from  the  door,  then  he  sat  down  in  a 
light  chair.  The  delicate  India  carving  began  to, 


OUT     AMONG     THE     TREES.  259 

under  his  weight,  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet  again,  looking 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  combination  of  azure  silk  and 
lace-like  ebony  in  awkward  consternation.  Then  he  took 
another  chair,  all  cushions  and  softness,  in  which  he  sank 
down  luxuriously,  and  began  to  fidget  with  his  chain. 

"  You  are  from  New  York,  Mr.  Stacy — I  think  it  was  on 
your  card  ?  "  said  Clara,  commencing  the  conversation. 

"Yes,  exactly,  my  —  my  lady  —  Empire  State;  besides 
that  I  have  a  little  business  with  you — pleasant  business,  I 
may  undertake  to  say;  money,  my  dear  young  lady. 
Money  always  is  pleasant.  What  ancient  poet  is  it  that 
says,  '  money  makes  the  mare  go? '  which  means,  I  take  it, 
that  it  drives  men  and  women  —  I  mean  gentlemen  and 
ladies — just  alike.  So  I  call  it  pleasant  news,  when  I  tell 
your  ladyship  that  I  have  got  a  pile  of  it  for  you — American 
bonds,  payable  in  gold." 

"  Money  for  me — for  me  ?  " 

"No  wonder  you  are  surprised.  The  amount  was  an 
astonisher  for  me  when  I  came  to  reckon  it  up.  At  first  it 
was  a  mere  nothing,  only  a  few  thousand,  but  gold,  in  ray 
hands,  grows,  grows,  grows,  and  now,  my  dear  young  lady, 
that  little  heap  left  by  your  lamented  mother — you  under- 
stand—" 

"  Left  by  my  mother,  and  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  lamented  mother,  the  first  Lady  Hope,  a 
lovely  woman,  but  delicate,  very  delicate ;  carried  off  by  con- 
sumption at  last.  Well,  just  before  her  death  she  sent  for 
me — we  were  great  friends,  you  know.  Being  alderman,  in 
fact,  president  of  the  board,  I  had  an  opportunity  to  offer 
her  some  municipal  civilities,  such  as  the  use  of  the  Gover- 
nor's room  to  receive  her  friends  in,  and  the  freedom  of  the 
city.  I  assure  you  she  had  the  broadest  liberty  to  ride 
where  she  pleased,  especially  in  the  Central  Park.  Then  we 
took  her  to  the  institutions,  and  she  had  a  lovely  dinner  on 
16 


260  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Blackwell's  Island,  for  I  was  hand  in  glove  with  the  com- 
missioners. I  don't  tell  these  things  to  boast  of  'era  only  to 
explain  how  she  came  to  trust  me  as  her  executioner — I 
beg  pardon — her  executor,  and  send  for  me  just  as  her  spirit 
was  taking  flight." 

"  Oh  !  please  tell  me  of  that — of  her — I  do  not  care  about 
the  money,"  cried  Clara,  interrupting  this  pompous  tissue 
of  falsehoods,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  You  saw  her,  you 
talked  with  her?" 

"  Often  and  often." 

"  Oh,  tell  me  ! " 

"Not  just  now,  young  lady.  Business  is  business,  and  we 
must  not  get  things  mixed.  Some  other  time,  after  your 
great  party,  for  instance,  I  shall  be  too  happy,  for  Mrs. 
Stacy  and  I  shall  stay  in  the  village,  till  after  that  august 
occasion ;  but  now  I  come  on  business,  nothing  short,  and  I 
am  in  a  hurry  to  get  these  ten  thousand  pounds  American 
gold-bearing  bonds  off  my  stomach — I  beg  pardon — con- 
science. Here,  my  lady,  is  the  pile  of  bonds.  Every  one 
will  bring  the  tin  when  its  wanted,  no  mistake  about  that." 

Here  Mr.  Stacy  laid  a  package  of  bonds  in  Lady  Clara's 
lap,  and  stood  with  a  beaming  face,  regarding  her  puzzled 
look,  as  she  examined  them. 

"  And  these  are  worth  ten  thousand  pounds  ?  "  she  said. 

"Exactly." 

"And  left  to  me  without  reservation  or  condition,  by  my 
mother  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  '  My  dear  friend,'  said  she,  '  you  will  find 
somewhere  about  three  thousand  pounds  in  the  bank.  That 
money  I  leave  in  your  hands,  for  I  have  faith  in  you,  Stacy. 
That  money  is  sure  to  grow,  and  when  my  daughter,  Clara, 
gets  to  be  about  eighteen  or  so,  pay  it  and  the  increase  over 
to  her  in  my  name;  tell  her  to  keep  it  for  her  own  indepen- 
dent use ;  to  say  nothing  to  Lord  Hope  or  his  wife — I  mean 


OUT     AMONG     THE     TREES.  261 

if  he  should  marry  again — but  to  use  it  just  as  she  pleases, 
without  regard  to  her  grandmother  or  any  one  else.'  These 
were  the  directions  your  mother  left  with  the  money,  and  I 
hope  you  will  make  sure  to  abide  by  them,  my  lady." 

"I  will  remember  every  word  you  have  said."  answered 
Clara,  whose  face  was  beginning  to  brighten  under  a  new 
idea,  and  the  bonds  were  becoming  very  precious  to  her. 
"  But  is  there  nothing  I  can  do  in  return  for  this  kind- 
ness?" 

"  I  expected  this.  That  was  just  what  she  said,  '  My 
friend,'  says  she,  '  there  will  be  no  such  thing  as  paying  you 
in  specie  for  the  service  you  will  do  my  child ;  but  she  will 
be  a  lady  of  rank,  Mr.  Stacy,  and  as  such  will  know  how  to 
return  your  kindness,  and  entertain  you  with  the  best. 
Though  dukes  and  princes  should  be  her  guests,  she  will 
have  pride  and  glory  in  introducing  her  mother's  faithful 
friend  to  them  all.  Yes,  him  and  that  splendid  woman, 
who  is  your  wife,  the  friend  of  my  bosom,'  says  she ;  '  and 
if  you  ever  go  to  England,  be  sure  to  take  your  wife  along, 
then  you'll  have  a  chance  to  learn  what  British  hospitality 
is  in  the  walls  of  Houghton  Castle,  my  own  birthplace.' " 

"  My  mother  has  promised  nothing  in  my  power  to  per- 
form which  shall  not  be  done,"  said  Clara,  a  good  deal  puz- 
zled by  all  that  she  heard,  and  quite  at  a  loss  to  judge  of 
the  social  status  of  her  visitor.  But  the  great  fact  remain- 
ed— her  mother  had  trusted  him ;  he  had  brought  "her  a 
large  sum  of  money,  which  nothing  but  the  most  honorable 
integrity  would  have  prevented  him  keeping  for  his  own 
benefit.  The  man  who  could  so  faithfully  render  back  an 
important  trust,  must  be  worthy  even  of  her  grandmother's 
hospitality. 

The  moment  Mr.  Stacy  had  bowed  and  stumbled  himself 
from  the  room,  Clara  ran  to  Lady  Carset,  and  obtained  an 
invitation  for  M.  Stacy,  Esq.,  and  lady,  to  the  entertain- 


262  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

ment  which  was  now  close  at  hand.  With  that  invitation, 
went  a  large  package  directed  to  Hepworth  Gloss,  in  which 
a  letter  was  enclosed,  requesting  him  to  take  such  legal 
steps  in  her  behalf  as  would  secure  the  amount  contained 
in  the  American  bonds  to  Mr.  Brown,  the  father  of  her  dear 
friend,  Caroline.  "  I  know  that  she  would  refuse  the  inde- 
pendence for  herself  and  her  father,  if  I  were  to  press  it 
upon  her;  indeed,  she  has  already  done  so,  when  I  only 
hinted  at  the  matter;  but  when  it  is  secured  irrevocably  to 
her  father,  she  must  submit  to  being  made  comfortable  in 
spite  of  herself.  The  money  is  mine  to  use  exactly  as  I 
please,  and  this  is  my  pleasure.  Pray  help  me  to  carry  it 
out.  There  is  no  need  of  consulting  that  dear  old  man, 
Brown,  whose  welfare  I  seek  quite  as  earnestly  as  I  do  that 
of  his  daughter;  for  he  is  just  the  sweetest  and  dearest 
character  I  ever  knew,  and  I  would  give  the  world  to  see 
his  blessed  old  face,  when  he  first  discovers  that  he  is  a  rich 
man.  Tell  me  all  about  it.  Be  very  careful  and  delicate 
in  your  management  of  this  business,  and  say  nothing  until 
you  have  put  it  out  of  your  power  or  mine  to  revoke  what 
will  make  me  the  happier  in  the  giving  than  they  can  be  in 
receiving.  When  we  meet  I  will  tell  you  how  this  money 
came  to  be  mine ;  but  before  then,  I  trust  it  will  be  in  the 
possession  of  another.  What  do  I  want  of  American 
bonds  ?  I  think  it  would  offend  my  dear  old  fairy-grand- 
mother if  I  took  them,  and  I  know  you  will  approve  what  I 
am  doing." 

Gloss  read  the  letter  with  a  smile  of  pleasure  ;  but  when 
he  took  up  the  bonds  again,  his  face  clouded. 

"  Can  I  never  wash  my  hands  of  that  poor  lady's  money," 
he  said.  "  Do  what  I  can,  it  will  come  back  to  me." 


THE     BALL     AT     HOUGHTON.  263 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    BALL    AT    HOUGHTON. 

THE  night  arrived  at  last  in  which  Lady  Carset  was  to 
do  the  honors  of  her  own  castle,  and  receive  the  highest 
and  brightest  of  the  land  in  person.  A  range  of  boudoirs 
and  saloons,  connected  with  the  state  drawing-room,  were 
thrown  together,  and  united  in  one  splendid  vista  by  silken 
draperies  and  hot-house  plants,  which  formed  noble  wreaths 
and  arches  over  each  entrance,  filling  room  after  room  with 
brightness  and  fragrance. 

The  conservatories  had  been  stripped  that  night,  that 
their  treasures  of  rare  exotics  might  brighten  the  splendor 
of  those  rooms,  and  soften  the  ancestral  grandeur  of  the 
vast  entrance  hall.  They  wound  in  massive  wreaths 
around  the  carved  balustrades  of  that  broad  oaken  staircase 
— were  duplicated  over  and  over  again  in  the  hight  and 
breadth  of  those  noble  mirrors.  They  formed  a  blooming 
border  around  the  oaken  floors,  black  with  age  and  bright 
with  polish,  of  the  dancing-rooms.  The  gilded  orchestras 
were  interlaced  with  them,  and,  in  every  group  of  plants  or 
clustering  wreath,  jets  of  gas  twinkled  out  like  stars,  cast- 
ing tremulous  shadows  from  the  leaves,  and  lending  a  richer 
color  to  the  blossoms. 

When  the  first  carriage  load  of  guests  came  sweeping 
across  the  stone  terrace,  Lady  Carset  left  her  dressing-room, 
and,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Lord  Hope,  took  her  place  in 
the  central -drawing-room,  with  gentle  dignity,  and  stood, 
with  the  gaslight  quivering  around  her,  touching  up  the 
richness  of  her  purple  garments  with  golden  ripples  of  light, 
and  striking  out  rainbows  from  the  great  Carset  diamonds, 


264  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

which  held,  and  gathered  up  the  woven  moonlight  of  her 
lace  shawl  on  those  daint}',  sloping  shoulders  and  delicate 
bust,  which  had  not  known  such  ornaments  for  years.  A 
ripple  of  these  noble  jewels  ran  through  the  soft  waves  of 
her  hair,  and  held  the  tuft  of  Marchant  feathers  and  lap- 
pets of  gossamer  lace  back  from  her  left  temple,  whence 
they  floated  off  gently  into  the  snow  of  her  hair,  scarcely 
whiter  than  it  was.  A  lovelier  representative  of  the  grand- 
est aristocracy  on  earth,  or  a  more  dainty  lady  of  the  olden 
times,  had  never,  since  its  foundation,  done  the  honors  of 
Houghton  Castle.  But  the  sweet  old  lady  was  already 
forced  to  exert  all  her  strength,  that  nothing  should  fall 
short  of  the  old  hospitality  on  this  the  last  fete  she  ever 
expected  to  give. 

Lady  Clara  had  followed  her,  half  dancing,  half  floating 
down  that  broad  staircase,  jerking  blossoms  from  the  plants 
as  she  went,  and  forming  them  into  a  tiny  bouquet  for  her 
grandmother.  Her  dress  was  just  one  cloud  of  silvery 
whiteness.  A  little  cluster  of  moss  rose  buds  on  the  left 
shoulder,  and  another  in  her  belt,  were  all  the  ornaments 
she  wore.  She  had  insisted,  with  almost  passionate  vehe- 
mence, that  no  mention  of  her  heirship  should  be  made 
that  night,  and  the  old  lady  consented  with  reluctance,  but 
appeased  her  own  impatience  by  a  grand  festival  to  all  her 
tenants  and  retainers  in  the  park,  where  nothing  had  been 
omitted  which,  in  feudal  times,  was  considered  proper  when 
the  heirship  of  Houghton  was  proclaimed.  Still,  in  words, 
the  old  lady  had  kept  honorable  silence,  and  no  one,  even 
from  the  grandeur  of  the  entertainment,  had  a  right  to 
more  than  guess  that  the  general  heirship  was  settled  on 
Lord  Hope's  daughter. 

In  fact,  this  entertainment  was  ostensibly  given  to  Lord 
and  Lady  Hope,  and  the  old  countess  had  taken  up  the 
sparkling  weight  of  all  those  Carset  jewels,  that  all  the 


THE     BALL     AT     HOUGHTON.  265 

world  might  know  that  they  had  come  back  honorably  into 
her  own  possession.  It  was  a  splendid  and  most  delicate 
way  of  acknowledging  herself  in  the  wrong. 

Before  the  guests  had  commenced  to  arrive  in  any  num- 
bers, Lady  Hope  came  floating  into  the  state  drawing-room, 
with  a  noble  cactus  flower  sweeping  backwards  from  the 
left  side  of  her  head,  and  resting  upon  the  massive  braids 
of  her  hair,  which  curved  upwards  like  a  helmet,  from  her 
neck  almost  to  the  forehead.  Chains  of  large  rubies  encir- 
cled her  neck  and  arms,  harmonizing  with  the  cactus  blos- 
som, but  forming  a  bold  contrast  to  the  amber  silk  of  her 
dress,  which  swept  far  back  upon  the  polished  floor,  and 
took  the  light  as  birds  of  Paradise  fling  off  sunshine  from 
their  pjumage.  A  beautiful  and  right  queenly  personage 
was  Eachael  Gloss  that  night,  as  she  moved  across  the  floor 
and  took  her  place  by  the  little  countess,  who  looked  up  and 
smiled  gently  when  she  saw  that  Lord  Hope's  wife  ap- 
peared in  the  old  family  rubies,  which  she  had  presented  to 
her  that  morning. 

One  bright  glance  at  Clara,  another  of  sparkling  triumph 
at  Lord  Hope,  and  Eachael  gave  herself  up  to  the  brilliant 
duties  that  lay  before  her.  This  night  was  to  be  the 
crowning  success  of  her  life. 

The  guests  swept  through  the  great  entrance,  and  into 
the  drawing-room  now,  in  crowds  and  groups.  Music 
sounded  from  half  a  dozen  gilded  orchestras,  and  the  oaken 
'floors  of  that  old  castle  began  to  tremble  under  the  feet  of 
many  dancers,  as  they  kept  time  to  the  music,  and  sent  out 
a  soft  undertone  of  conversation. 

Lord  Hope  opened  the  ball  with  the  elite  of  the  eMite. 
Lord  Hilton  led  Lady  Clara  into  the  same  set,  at  which  the 
old  countess  nodded  her  head  and  smiled.  She  observed 
that  the  joung  nobleman  bent  his  head,  and  looking  in  the 
bright  face  of  her  grandchild,  was  talking  earnestly  to  her, 


266  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

at  which  the  dear  old  lady  smiled  again,  and  put  up  her 
fan,  that  no  one  might  observe  how  pleased  she  was. 

This  was  what  Hilton  was  saying : 

"And  she  would  not  come  down,  fearing  to  meet  me  ? 
This  is  hard,  Lady  Clara  !  " 

"No,"  answered  the  girl,  reaching  out  her  hand  for  a 
ladies'  chain,  and  breaking  from  it  in  haste.  "  It  is  not  alto- 
gether that ;  she  says  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  of  us — that 
her  birth  forbids  it,  and  any  attempt  at  equality  could  only 
end  in  humiliation.  I  cannot  persuade  her  out  of  this 
idea :  entreat  as  I  would,  she  refused  utterly  to  come  down. 
Then  I  got  grandmamma  to  urge  it,  and  she  did  it  beau- 
tifully, but  it  was  no  use  ;  and  there  the  poor  darling  sits 
all  alone,  hearing  the  music  and  our  voices,  as  prisoners  in 
their  cells  listen  to  bird  songs  through  windows  in  the 
walls.  It  is  cruel !  Why  can't  people  be  born  all  alike, 
and  go  up  and  down  according  to  their  own  merits,  I  won- 
der ?  " 

"That  is  an  American  idea.  You  must  have  picked  it 
up  there  in  your  infancy,  Lady  Clara." 

"  I  should  not  wonder.  Some  day  I  mean  to  go  back 
there  and  see  what  social  equality  is  like." 

"  Oh,  you  will  find  no  place  on  earth  where  your  title 
will  be  of  so  much  value,  Lady  Clara,"  said  Hilton,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Well,  that  is  because  the  Americans  respect  history, 
and  associate  us  with  the  great  deeds  of  mutual  ancestors. 
It  is  the  romance  of  tradition  that  interests  them ;  for  they 
are  great  readers,  these  Americans,  and  know  more  of  us,  as 
a  people,  than  we  do  of  ourselves.  We  represent  the  war- 
riors and  the  statesmen  which  they  have  clothed  in  the  poet- 
ry of  great  deeds.  If  the  nobility  of  this  day  disappoints 
them  it  is  our  own  fault.  When  they  learn  that  our  great- 


THE     BALL     AT     HOUGHTON.  267 

ness  consists  only  in  titles,  we  shall  have  little  homage 
merely  for  them." 

"  What  a  strange  little  creature  you  are ! " 

"  Yes,  rather.     It  is  our  turn  now." 

After  a  little  there  was  another  long  pause  in  the 
dance.  Then  Hilton  went  back  to  the  subject  nearest  to  his 
heart. 

"  You  could  not  possibly  persuade  her  to  come  down — 
not  here,  but  into  some  of  the  less  public  rooms  ?"  he  said. 

"  Impossible.     She  would  not  think  of  it." 

«  Cruel  ! » 

"  Yes,  I  think  so  ;  but  then,  I  would  do  exactly  the  same 
thing." 

'•'What  makes  you  start  so,  Clara?" 

"Don't  you  see  ?  There  is  Mr.  Closs  going  up  to  grand- 
mamma, and  papa  standing  close  by  her.  Why,  Lord 
Hope  is  speaking  to  him  !  How  good  !  how  kind  !  They 
are  both  smiling;  now,  now,  do  look  on  mamma  Rachael's 
face — she  sees  them,  and  happiness  makes  her  splendid ! 
He  is  coming  this  way.  Understand  now,  I  shall  dance 
with  him  just  as  often  as  I  can,  and  you  are  to  help  me  if  I 
get  into  any  trouble.  Thank  Heaven,  this  set  is  over  !  " 

"You  are  complimentary,"  laughed  Lord  Hilton. 

"  So  I  am  ;  but  you  don't  mind  it.  Here  he  is.  Let  me 
introduce  you  before  he  takes  me  off.  Lord  Hilton,  Mr. 
Closs." 

The  next  moment  Clara  was  whirling  through  the  room, 
with  Hepworth  Closs'  arm  around  her  waist,  and  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  She  kept  her  word,  and  spent  half  her 
evening  with  him,  managing  to  escape  observation  as  much 
as  possible,  and  thus  secured  a  few  hours  of  supreme  hap- 
piness. 

Lord  Hope  had  received  his  brother-in-law  with  gentle- 


268  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

manly  ease.  How  could  he  help  it,  not  being  master  at 
Houghton  ? 

Besides,  he  was  disposed  to  cast  off  all  responsibility  with 
regard  to  his  daughter's  choice  of  a  husband,  and  leave 
everything  to  the  judgment  and  pride  of  the  old  countess, 
who  happened  to  like  Gloss,  and  was  not  aware  how  much 
of  that  evening  he  spent  with  her  grandchild. 

Rachael  was  in  ecstacies.  She  loved  her  brother  dearly, 
and  his  apparent  reconciliation  with  her  husband  lifted  the 
last  cloud  from  her  heart.  It  seemed  to  her  that  night  as 
if  she  had  nothing  to  wish  for. 

The  old  countess  stood  to  her  post  bravely,  until  after  the 
supper-rooms  had  been  thrown  open  and  the  gay  crowds 
had  passed  in  and  out  again  ;  but  when  the  dancing  had 
recommenced  and  the  conversation  around  her  grew  brilliant 
and  a  little  confusing,  she  turned  suddenly  pale,  and  would 
have  fallen,  but  that  Lady  Clara,  who  stood  near,  sprang 
forward  and  threw  both  arms  around  her. 

"  She  is  better  ;  she  can  walk  now.  I  will  go  with  her," 
cried  the  excited  young  creature.  "  Papa,  you  shall  help 
her  up-stairs,  then  I  will  take  care  of  her,"  she  added,  see- 
ing how  helpless  the  old  lady  was. 

Lord  Hope  almost  carried  the  old  lady  up-stairs.  Then. 
Clara  called  aloud  for  Caroline  Brown,  who  came  out  from 
her  chamber,  and,  between  them,  they  led  the  old  countess 
into  the  tower-room. 


THE     OLD     WOMAN     BACK     AGAIN.        269 
CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    OLD   WOMAN    WANDERS    BACK   AGAIN. 

OLD  Mrs.  Yates  had  left  the  railroad  station  two  miles 
back,  and  was  walking  wearily  along  the  high  road  toward 
the  village,  which  la}',  as  it  were,  at  the  feet  of  Hough  ton 
Castle,  like  a  spaniel  crouching  at  the  foot  of  its  mistress. 
At  the  station  and  all  along  the  road  she  had  observed  an 
unusual  commotion.  Carriages  in  an  unprecedented  num- 
ber were  waiting  for  special  trains,  which  came  in  more 
than  once  that  day  for  Houghton  Castle. 

All  the  vehicles  in  the  neighborhood  were  in  motion, 
dashing  to  and  from  the  village  inns,  the  castle,  and  a  neigh- 
boring town,  where  accommodations  for  a  great  access  of 
people  could  be  obtained. 

Hannah  Yates  was  more  than  once  nearly  run  over  and 
driven  back  to  the  banks  of  the  highway  by  those  flying 
vehicles,  where  she  stood  half-terrified,  half-curious,  looking 
after  them  in  wistful  astonishment. 

What  could  this  tumultuous  movement  mean  ?  Was  it 
a  wedding— but  of  whom  ?  A  funeral — the  old  countess  ? 

No,  no !  Destiny  could  not  be  so  cruel.  Besides,  there 
was  no  such  eager  driving  or  smiling  faces  when  the  head 
of  that  castle  was  taken  from  its  broad  portals  to  the 
family  vault.  It  must  be  sdme  festival,  and  she  was  yet  in 
time. 

At  an  abrupt  curve  of -the  road  the  old  woman  came  sud- 
denly upon  -a  full  view  of  the  castle.  It  was  all  ablaze 
with  lights,  and  rose  up  from  the  embosoming  trees  like 
some  enchanted  palace  upon  which  a  tempest  of  stars  had 
rained  down  in  all  their  heavenly  brightness.  The  broad 


270  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

fa$ade  which  connected  the  tower  was  flooded  with  noonday 
light,  and  she  could  discover  groups  of  people  moving  to 
and  fro  on  the  stone  terrace  in  front,  rendered  so  small 
by  the  distance  that  they  seemed  unreal  and  fairy-like. 
Down  to  the  verge  of  the  park  and  upward,  curving 
through  the  woods,  she  could  trace  the  chestnut  avenue  by 
wreaths  of  colored  lanterns  that  blazed  from  tree  to  tree 
like  mammoth  jewels  chaining  them  together.  Now  and 
then  a  carriage  broke  to  view,  sweeping  along  the  mac- 
adamized avenue,  clearly  revealed  by  the  light  that  fell 
around  it. 

Never  in  her  life  had  the  old  woman  seen  such  splendid 
commotion  about  that  stately  building,  yet  she  could  remem- 
ber many  a  festive  scene  in  its  old  walls,  when  crowned 
princes  bad  been  entertained  there  with  a  degree  of  splen- 
dor scarcely  exceeded  in  their  own  palaces. 

As  the  old  woman  str  od  gazing  upon  this  scene,  a  coun- 
tryman, passing  along  the  highway,  paused  near  her  to  get 
a  sight  of  the  castle. 

''What  is  going  on  up  yonder?"  inquired  the  woman, 
drawing  toward  him  and  speaking  in  his  own  broad  dia- 
lect. 

"  What  is't  at  yon  castle  ?  An'  who  mon  you  be  that 
donna  know  that  the  oud  lady  up  at  Houghton  is  giving  a 
grand  blow-out  to  her  gran' child,  Lord  Hope's  daughter,  an' 
to  Lady  Hope,  as  people  thought  she  would  never  abide  in 
her  sight?" 

"And  is  Lord  and  Lady  Hope  at  the  castle  ?  " 

"Aye,  an'  the  young  lady,  too — her  that  the  oud  countess 
is  o'er  fond  of;  but  the  young  'un  is  a  right  comely  lass,  an' 
the  oud  'un  might  go  furder  and  fare  worse." 

Mrs.  Yates  gathered  the  woolen  shawl  she  had  travelled 
in  about  her,  and  went  hastily  down  the  bank  on  which  she 


THE     OLD     WOMAN     BACK     AGAIN.         271 

had  been  standing,  so  excited  that  all  the  weakness  of  age 
seemed  to  have  been  suddenly  swept  from  her. 

She  had  intended  to  sleep  in  the  village  that  night ;  now 
she  bent  her  steps  resolutely  toward  the  castle. 

As  she  came  out  of  the  chestnut  avenue,  keeping  upon 
the  turf  and  among  the  shadows,  all  of  the  glory  of  that 
illumination  broke  upon  her. 

The  broad  terrace,  flooded  with  light — a  fountain,  directly 
in  front,  shooting  up  a  column  of  liquid  crystal  thirty  feet 
or  more,  where  it  branched  off,  like  a  tree  of  quivering  ice 
swaj'ed  gracefully  in  the  wind,  and  broke  up  in  a  storm  of 
drops  that  rained  downward,  flashing  and  glittering  through 
that  golden  atmosphere  to  their  source  again. 

Above  this  rose  those  grand  old  towers,  garlanded  with 
colored  lamps  that  wound  in  and  out  of  the  clinging  ivy  in 
great  wreaths  and  chains  of  tinted  fire,  which  harmonized 
with  the  quivering  foliage,  and  flooded  the  fountain,  the 
terrace,  and  all  the  neighboring  trees  with  a  soft  atmosphere 
of  golden  green. 

Here  and  there  the  gray  old  stonework  of  the  towers 
broke  through,  revealing  glimpses  of  the  giant  strength 
which  lay  hidden  underneath  ;  and  over  the  right  hand 
tower,  from  a  flag-staff  turned  around  and  around  with 
star-like  lights,  the  broad,  red  banner,  with  which  the 
Carsets  had  for  centuries  defied  their  enemies  and  wel- 
comed their  friends,  floated  slowly  out  UDOU  the  night 
wind. 

Hannah  Yates  saw  all  this,  and  knew,  by  the  music 
which  thrilled  the  air  around  her,  that  the  revel,  whatever 
it  was,  had  commenced  ;  for  a  sound  of  pleasant  voices  and 
sweet  laughter  came  through  the  open  windows,  and  from 
the  depths  of  the  park — where  an  ox  had  been  roasted  whole 
that  day,  and  wine  and  beer  had  flowed  freely  as  the  waters 
of  the  fountain — came  subdued  sounds  of  a  waning  festival, 


272  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

which  had  been  given  to  the  tenantry  and  villagers.  The 
gaiety  of  the  castle  was  answered  back  from  the  park,  and 
harmonized  by  that  of  the  working  people  who  tilled  all  the 
broad  lands  around  it. 

When  the  old  woman  heard  these  answering  sounds  she 
felt  that  an  heiress  to  all  this  greatness  was  acknowledged 
that  night,  for  when  lords  gathered  in  the  castle,  and  ten- 
ants in  the  park,  it  was  usually  to  acknowledge  the  rights 
of  a  coming  heir,  and  she  could  not  believe  that  all  this  had 
been  done  in  honor  of  Lady  Hope. 

Hannah  Yates  lost  all  the  unnatural  strength  that  had 
brought  her  among  this  splendor.  She  knew  that  it  was 
scarcely  possible  that  she  could  speak  with  Lady  Carset 
that  night,  if  she  could,  indeed,  gain  admittance  to  the 
castle ;  but  she  went  around  to  a  back  entrance,  and  so 
made  her  way,  unseen,  to  the  tower  -  chamber,  which 
opened  into  Lady  Carset's  dressing-room.  There  she  sat 
down  and  waited,  hour  after  hour,  until  at  last  the  door 
opened,  and  the  old  countess  came  in,  walking  feebly  be- 
tween two  young  girls,  one  of  whom  she  had  never  seen 
before,  but  the  other  made  the  sinking  heart  leap  in  her 
bosom. 

When  the  old  countess  entered,  the  lights  in  her  room 
were  shaded,  but  they  struck  those  masses  of  jewels  in  the 
snowy  whiteness  of  her  hair  and  upon  her  bosom  with  a 
brilliancy  that  revealed  the  gray  pallor  of  that  aged  face 
with  painful  distinctness. 

Hannah  Yates  arose  from  the  shaded  place  in  which  she 
was  sitting,  and  came  forward  to  support  her  old  mistress. 

The  countess  looked  up,  and  a  faint  smile  flickered  across 
her  face. 

"  Ah  !  Yates,  is  it  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Yates  made  no  answer,  but  took  that  frail  form  in 
her  arms  and  carried  it  to  the  couch. 


THE     OLD     WOMAN     BACK     AGAIN.        273 

"Take  them  off!  take  them  off!  They  are  heavy,  ah,  so 
heavy ! " 

The  old  lady  put  a  waving  hand  to  her  head,  indicating 
that  it  was  the  diamonds  that  troubled  her. 

Mrs.  Yates,  who  had  performed  this  office  many  a  time 
before,  unclasped  the  jewels  and  laid  them  on  a  sofa-table 
close  by,  then  she  removed  the  burning  stones  from  that 
oppressed  bosom,  and  unclasped  them  from  the  slender  arms, 
while  her  mistress  lay  struggling  for  breath,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  that  kind  old  face  with  a  look  of  touching  helpless-, 
ness. 

"  Give  me  water,"  she  whispered. 

Caroline  ran  for  a  goblet  of  water,  and  held  it  to  those 
white  lips.  The  countess  drank  a  swallow  and  then  called 
out: 

"Wine!  wine  !" 

Wine  was  brought,  and  she  drank  a  little. 

"  Go,  my  child/'  she  whispered,  seeing  how  anxious  and 
pale  Clara  appeared,  in  spite  of  the  cloudy  softness  of  her 
dress.  "  Go  to  your  room  and  get  some  rest.  Ah,  me  ! 
how  all  this  wearies,  wearies  ! " 

The  two  girls  hesitated.  There  was  something  in  that 
sweet,  old  face  that  kept  them  spellbound.  The  old  lady 
saw  it,  and  reaching  forth  her  hand,  drew  them,  one  after 
the  other,  down  to  her  lips,  and  kissed  them. 

"  Good-night,  good-night !  " 

How  softly  those  gentle  words  fell  from  hSr  lips.  With 
what  yearning  fondness  her  eyes  followed  those  young 
creatures  as  they  went  reluctantly  from  the  room,  look- 
ing back  in  wistful  sorrow,  as  they  left  her  in  the  care  of 
Yates. 


274  THE     dLD     COUNTESS. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LADY   HOPE    IJT   THE    CASTLE. 

LADY  CLARA  had  been  dancing,  talking  and  receiving 
such  homage  as  would  have  satisfied  the  ambition  of  a  prin- 
cess. She  had  managed  to  snatch  time  to  exchange  many  a 
sweet  word  and  bright  look  with  her  lover,  and  would  have 
been  happy  in  delicious  weariness,  but  for  the  sudden  indis- 
position which  had  fallen  upon  her  grandmother.  As  it  was 
she  could  hardly  realize  anything,  but  gave  way  to  intense 
weariness,  and  almost  fell  asleep  as  Margaret  was  undressing 
her. 

But  Caroline  had  been  alone  all  the  evening,  within  hear- 
ing of  the  laughter,  the  music,  and  feeling  the  very  tread  of 
the  dancers  in  every  nerve.  She  was  young,  ardent,  and 
naturally  felt  a  craving  wish  for  the  amusement  she  had 
resolutely  denied  herself;  now,  less  than  ever,  could  she  feel 
a  desire  for  sleep.  Instead  of  seeking  her  room  she  wan- 
dered off  to  a  wing  of  the  castle,  in  which  the  picture 
gallery  stretched  its  silent  range  of  dead  shadows,  and  tried 
to  throw  off  the  unaccountable  excitement  that  possessed 
her,  by  walking  up  and  down  the  long  gallery. 

The  late  moon  was  shining  through  the  windows,  and  a 
crowd  of  dimly  outlined  figures,  in  armor  or  sweeping  gar- 
ments, looked  down  upon  her  from  the  walls. 

Why  this  strange  spirit  of  unrest  had  sent  her  to  that 
gallery  she  could  not  have  told,  but  it  was  there  still,  urging 
her  on  and  on,  she  could  not  tell  where,  but  walked  swiftly 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  as  if  striving  to  weary  herself 
in  a  desire  for  the  slumber  that  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon 
every  human  being  in  the  castle. 


LADY     HOPE     IN     THE     CASTLE.  275 

As  she  was  walking  thus  wildly,  a  footstep,  not  her  own, 
disturbed  her.  She  stopped  to  listen — made  sure  that  it 
was  some  one  advancing,  and  drew  slowly  back  toward  the 
wall,  hoping  to  shelter  herself  among  the  low-hanging  pic- 
tures. 

The  moonlight,  from  a  neighboring  window,  lay  full  upon 
her  as  she  retreated  across  the  room,  with  her  face  turned 
down  the  gallery,  and  her  breath  hushed  in  fear.  She  saw, 
coming  toward  her,  now  in  sha'dow,  now  in  broader  light,  a 
lady,  in  garments  of  rustling  silk,  sweeping  far  back  on  the 
oaken  floor,  and  gleaming  duskily,  amber-hued  in  the  im- 
perfect light  of  a  small  silver  lamp  which  she  carried  in  her 
hand — a  beautiful  lady,  with  rubies  on  her  neck  and  in  her 
hair.  The  lamplight,  for  a  moment,  concentrated  on  a  face 
whose  weariness  was  overborne  by  slumbering  triumph, 
which  poised  her  head  like  that  of  a  newly  crowned  empress. 

Caroline  stood  for  the  moment  fascinated,  then  made  a 
swift  retreat,  for  she  saw  those  great,  black  eyes  turned  full 
upon  her,  and  fled  in  a  panic. 

A  shriek  —  the  crash  of  a  falling  lamp,  and  a  mass  of 
dusky  drapery  huddled  together  on  the  floor,  brought  the 
girl  out  of  her  covert.  Something  must  have  happened — 
the  lady  had  hurt  herself — perhaps  could  not  arise  from 
want  of  help.  She  went  down  the  gallery,  passing  first 
one  window  then  another,  taking  the  moonlight  from  each, 
when  the  fallen  lady  uttered  another  cry,  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  fled  down  the  gallery,  leaving  her  lamp  overturned, 
with  the  wick  still  burning. 

Caroline  took  up  the  lamp,  and  placing  it  on  a  bracket, 
left  the  gallery,  vexed  with  herself  for  the  fright  she  had 
occasioned  this  strange  Jady  by  wandering  about  so  heed- 
lessly in  the  dark.  Still  she  could  not  sleep,  but  went  to 
her  own  roon?.  and  sat  waiting  there  for  the  morning  to 
dawn. 

17 


276  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Perhaps  an  hour  after  Caroline  left  the  picture  gallery,  a 
figure  clothed  in  white  from  head  to  foot,  came  through  an 
end  door,  walking  firmly  through  the  darkness,  and  touch- 
ing the  floor  with  the  noiseless  tread  of  her  naked  feet. 
She  walked  straight  to  the  silver  lamp  and  took  it  from  the 
bracket.  Now  her  face  was  revealed.  It  was  Lady  Hope. 

She  held  the  lamp  before  her,  and  moved  on  very  slowly, 
looking  ahead  through  the  darkness  with  those  wide  open, 
staring  eyes. 

After  that,  when  all  the  fires  of  that  vivid  illumination 
had  burned  out  in  the  park,  and  were  quenched  in  the 
castle,  a  bright  star  seemed  wandering  up  and  down  the 
vast  building ;  now  at  one  window,  then  at  another,  light- 
ing it  up  with  fitful  gleams,  then  leaving  it  in  darkness, 
and  appearing  again  in  some  far  off  casement. 

Once  or  twice  the  form  of  a  woman  in  white  cast  its 
cloudy  outline  across  the  plate  glass  of  an  unshuttered 
window ;  but  no  person  was  in  the  park  to  observe  her,  and 
she  wandered  on  with  a  lamp  in  her  firm  hand,  which 
brightened  over  the  pallid  outlines  of  her  face,  and  kindled 
up  her  night  drapery  like  sunshine  over  drifted  snow. 
Up  and  down  along  the  corridors,  and  through  the  long 
drawing-room,  the  figure  swept,  carrying  her  lamp,  and 
moving  noiselessly  over  the  floor  with  her  white,  naked 
feet. 

Upon  that  unconscious  face  a  look  of  deep  pain  had 
stamped  itself  in  place  of  haughty  triumph,  and  the  wide 
open  black  eyes  had  a  far-off  look,  as  if  their  glance  could 
penetrate  the  walls  and  the  very  sky  beyond. 

On  and  on  the  woman  wandered,  till  she  came  to  a  closed 
door  in  one  of  the  corridors.  Here  she  paused,  laid  her 
right  hand  on  the  silver  knob,  and  turned  it  so  noiselessly 
that,  when  the  door  opened,  it  seemed  like  the  action  of  a 
ghost. 


LADY     HOPE     IN     THE     CASTLE.  277 

The  room  was  darkened  from  even  the  faint  light  of  the 
stars  by  sweeping  draperies  of  silk,  which  glowed  out 
redly  as  the  lamp  light  fell  upon  it  in  flashes,  as  if  suddenly 
drenched  with  wine. 

A  high  ebony  bedstead  stood  in  the  centre  of  this  noble 
room,  canopied  half  way  over,  and  draped  like  the  windows, 
so  that  a  red  gleam  fell  upon  the  whiteness  of  the  counter- 
pane as  the  light  of  that  lamp  fell  upon  it. 

A  man  lay  profoundly  sleeping  on  this  bed — a  handsome, 
middle-aged  man,  whose  thick  brown  beard  showed  soft 
gleams  of  silver  in  it,  and  whose  hair,  though  waving  and 
bright,  was  growing  thin  on  the  top  of  his  head. 

The  man  appeared  to  sleep  heavily,  and  a  smile  lay  on 
his  lips ;  but  a  look  of  habitual  care  had  written  itself  on 
his  forehead,  and  his  mouth  was  surrounded  by  stern,  hard 
lines,  that  seemed  graven  there  with  steel. 

The  woman  stood  by  this  sleeping  man,  gazing  on  him 
with  the  far-off  look  of  a  ghost.  She  turned  at  last,  and 
set  the  light  down  on  a  console,  where  it  fell  less  distinctly 
on  the  pillow  where  that  head  was  lying.  Then  she  crept 
back  and  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  so  close  to  the 
unconscious  sleeper  that  her  shadow  fell  across  him. 
Slowly,  as  if  she  had  been  touching  a  serpent,  her  hand 
crept  stealthily  toward  that  which  lay  in  the  supine  care- 
lessness of  sleep  on  the  white  counterpane.  She  touched  it 
at  last,  but  started  back.  A  blood-red  stain  from  the 
curtain  fell  across  it  as  her  bending  form  let  the  light 
stream  through  the  silk. 

The  woman  drew  back  and  passed  her  left  hand  quickly 
over  that  which  had  touched  the  sleeping  man.  Again  and 
again  she  rubbed  one  hand  over  the  other,  muttering  to 
herself. 

Then  a  look  of  passionate  distress  came  to  that  dark  face, 
and,  going  to  a  marble  table,  on  which  a  silver  bowl  and 


278  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

pitcher  stood,  she  poured  some  water  into  the  bowl,  and 
plunged  the  hand  with  which  she  had  touched  that  sleeping 
man  into  it.  The  splash  of  the  water  aroused  him,  and  its 
icy  coldness  shocked  the  woman  out  of  her  unnatural  sleep. 
She  turned  around  wildly,  with  the  water  dripping  from 
her  hands — turned  to  find  herself  in  her  husband's  cham- 
ber, with  his  astonished  eyes  fixed  upon  her  as  he  sat  up  in 
bed. 

"  Eachael ! " 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  stood  gazing  around  the 
room  in  wild  bewilderment.  Haw  came  she  standing 
there  ?  By  what  spirit  of  love  or  hate  had  she  been  sent  to 
that  silver  basin  ? 

"Rachael,  is  anything  wrong?     Are  you  ill?" 

The  woman  began  to  shiver.  Perhaps  the  ice  cold  water 
had  chilled  her. 

She  looked  down  upon  her  hands  as  if  the  red  shadow 
haunted  her  yet,  but  all  she  saw  were  drops  of  pure  water 
rolling  down  her  slender  fingers,  and  falling  one  by  one  to 
the  floor. 

"  I  do  not  know ! "  she  answered,  in  cold  bewilderment. 
te  Something  drove  me  out  from  the  bed,  and  sent  me 
wandering,  wandering,  wandering  !  But  how  I  came  here, 
alas !  Norton,  I  cannot  tell  you." 

Bachael  shivered  all  over  as  she  spoke,  and,  as  if  drawn 
that  waj'  by  some  unseen  force,  came  close  to  Lord  Hope's 
bed,  and  sat  down  upon  it. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  cold — so  dreary  cold ! " 

An  eider  down  quilt  lay  across  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Lord 
Hope  reached  forward  and  folded  it  around  her,  very  gently, 
murmuring : 

"  My  poor  wife  !  poor  Eachael !  You  have  been  dream- 
ing." ' 

"  No  j  it  was  not  all  dreaming,  Norton.     I  did  see — no 


LADY     HOPE     IN     THE     CASTLE.  279 

matter  what;  but  it  was  something  that  terrified  me  out 
of  all  the  joy  and  glory  of  this  night.  I  must  have  been 
fearfully  worn  out  to  sleep  after  that ;  but  the  lamp,  which 
I  left  behind  me,  is  burning  there,  and  my  hands  were  in 
the  cold  water,  trying  to  wash  themselves,  when  you  awoke 
me.  I  must  have  been  in  that  fearful  picture  gallery 
again." 

"  You  have  courage  to  go  there  at  all,  Rachael! " 

"  I  got  there  without  knowing  it.  The  rooms  have  been 
so  changed  I  lost  my  way,  and  took  the  wrong  corridor,  and 
there  1  saw — " 

"Her  picture." 

"  Was  it  that  ?     Oh !  was  it.only  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  there — her  picture — life  size ;  and  so  like  that  I 
would  not  look  on  it  for  the  world." 

"  But  what  carried  me  there,  Norton  ?  On  this  night, 
too,  when  I  have  been  honored,  as  your  wife  should  be  for 
the  first  time !  when  her  mother  has  taken  me  by  the  hand 
and  lifted  the  cloud  from  my  name  !  Ah,  Norton  !  Norton ! 
it  was  glory  to  me  when  I  saw  your  eyes  kindle,  and 
answer  back  to  mine,  as  the  noblest  of  the  land  crowded 
round  to  do  me  homage.  Then  I  knew  that  the  old  love 
was  perfect  yet.  Oh,  Destiny  is  cruel,  that  it  will  not  let 
me  have  one  perfect  day ! " 

"After  all,  it  was  but  a  picture.  Why  allow  it  to  dis- 
tress you  so  ?  " 

Lord  Hope  took  her  hands  in  his.  She  did  not  shrink 
from  his  touch  now,  as  she  had  in  her  abnormal  sleep; 
but  he  felt  her  palms  growing  warm,  and  saw  the  light 
coming  back  to  Ler  eyes,  where  it  had  seemed  frozen  at 
first. 

"And  you  love  me?  I  was  sure  of  it  to-night.  That 
was  my  chiefest  glory.  Lacking  that,  what  would  the 
homage  of  all  the  world  be  to  Rachael  Gloss  ?  I  was  think- 

• 


280  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

ing  this,  when  that  seemed  to  start  up  before  me,  and 
whispering  to  myself,  '  He  loves  me  !  he  loves  me  !  he  loves 
me ! '  like  a  young  girl ;  for  I  have  seemed  very  young 
to-night.  Why  not  ?  A  glorious  life  lies  before  us.  You 
will  now  step  more  fearlessly  forward,  and  take  your  place 
among  the  great  men  of  the  earth, — while  I — I  will  be 
anything ;  charm  stones,  work  miracles,  to  win  popularity 
and  lay  it  at  your  feet. 

"Say  that  you  love  me  once  more,  Norton,  and  then  I 
will  creep  back  to  my  pillow,  the  proudest  and  happiest 
woman  on  earth — for,  after  all,  it  was  only  a  picture  !  " 

Rachael  Gloss  had  hardly  done  speaking  when  a  cry  of 
distress  rang  through  the  neighboring  corridor,  the  door  of 
Lord  Hope's  chamber  was  flung  open,  and  a  pallid  face 
looked  in. 

"Come — come  at  once!     My  lady  is  dying!" 

Round  to  other  rooms  came  that  cry  of  terror,  arousing 
those  two  girls — the  one  from  her  sleep,  the  other  from  her 
mournful  vigil — and  drawing  the  family  together,  in  pale 
groups,  into  the  tower-chamber. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

DEATH   IN   THE   TOWER-CHAMBER. 

THE  old  countess  was  not  dying,  but  dead.  Hannah 
Yates,  who  had  watched  her  faithfully,  did  not  know  when 
the  last  faint  breath  left  her  lips  ;  but  she  became  conscious 
of  a  solemn  stillness  which  settled  upon  the  room,  and 
bending  forward,  saw  that  soft  gray  shadows  had  crept  over 
that  gentle  face,  up  to  the  hair  of  silky  snow,  and  down  to 


DEATH     IN     THE     TOWER-CHAMBER.      281 

the  slender  throat,  till  it  was  lost  in  the  purple  splendor  of 
that  festive  rote. 

There  she  lay,  tranquil  as  a  sleeping  child,  with  a  calm, 
holy  smile  breaking  through  the  shadows,  and  her  little 
hands  meekly  folded  over  the  gossamer  lace  on  her 
bosom. 

Upon  a  marble  table  close  by  lay  the  jewels  she  had 
worn — a  glittering  and  neglected  heap  of  fire,  which  gave 
out  more  light  than  the  shaded  lamps  that  threw  their 
beams  brightly  on  them,  and  shed  tender  moonlight  on  that 
lovely  old  face. 

The  family  were  slowly  gathering  in  that  death-chamber, 
where  Clara  and  Caroline  were  clinging  together  in  bitter 
grief,  and  old  Mrs.  Yates  was  kneeling  with  her  face  buried 
in  the  purple  of  her  mistress'  robe. 

Lord  Hope  came  in  at  last,  followed  by  Lady  Hope,  who, 
even  in  that  solemn  place,  could  not  suppress  her  pride  as 
her  eyes  fell  on  Lady  Clara,  whom  she  recognized  as  the 
heiress  of  all  that  gentle  lady  had  left.  But  Lady  Clara 
saw  nothing  of  this.  The  poor  girl  was  weeping  out  her 
passionate  sorrow  in  the  arms  of  her  friend,  who  bent  over 
her  with  such  tender  sympathy  that  her  face  was  almost 
concealed. 

As  Lord  Hope  advanced  toward  the  death-couch,  old 
Mrs.  Yates  arose  and  stood  before  him.  When  he  had  last 
seen  her  she  was  an  old  woman,  but  in  the  prime  of  her 
strength  ;  now  her  shoulders  stooped,  her  hair  was  entirely 
white,  and  she  faltered  in  her  walk.  He  reached  out  his 
hand  to  her.  She  did  not  appear  to  observe  it,  but  said  to 
him,  in  a  quiet  voice  : 

"  My  lord,  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here.  God  has  so  or- 
dered it  that  I  was  too  late  for  her.  She  could  not  hear 
what  I  had  to  say,  but  you  must  listen  in  her  stead." 


282  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

"At  the  proper  time,  Hannah  ;  but  we  must  not  talk  of 
worldly  things  in  this  presence." 

Lord  Hope  bent  his  head  reverently  toward  the  pale  form 
upon  the  couch,  and  the  old  woman  also  bowed  down  her 
face  meekly,  as  she  had  learned  to  bow  her  head  in  prison ; 
but  she  answered,  with  gentle  firmness : 

"  No — that  which  I  have  to  say  must  be  told  now,  and 
in  her  dead  presence.  Since  God  has  forbidden  me  to 
bring  doubt  and  sorrow  on  her  last  moments  I  thank  Him 
for  it,  but  you  must  listen." 

"Not  now  —  not  now,"  answered  Hope,  quickly.  He 
was  disturbed  by  the  sight  of  this  old  woman,  whom  he  had 
believed  to  be  buried  for  life  in  an  American  prison ; 
but  he  had  learned  the  great  art  of  self-control,  and  gave 
no  indication  of  the  shock  her  presence  in  that  room  gave 
him. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  get  Lady  Hope  out  of  the  apart- 
ment. She  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Yates,  but  he  was  fearful 
that  some  'mention  of  her  name  might  renew  the  nervous 
agitation  from  which  she  had  but  just  recovered. 

"Come  with  me,  Rachael,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  will  take  you  to  our  room,  for  this  is  a  painful  sight. 
Then  I  will  return,  alone,  to  hear  what  this  person  has  to 
say." 

Lady  Hope  was  willing  to  leave  a  scene  which  filled  her 
with  gloom. 

Whispering  to  Clara  that  she  would  come  back  and 
watch  with  her  when  the  old  woman  was  gone,  she  twisted 
a  corner  of  the  black  lace  shawl,  which  covered  her  head, 
around  her  throat,  and  went  away,  glad  to  escape  that 
strange  old  woman,  against  whom  she  had  taken  one  of 
those  sudden  antipathies  which  were  common  to  her. 

"  Dear  me !  I  look  almost  as  deathly  as  she  does,  with  all 
these  shadows  on  my  face,"  said  Lady  Hope,  as  she  stood 


DEATH  IN  THE  TOWER- CHAMBER.   283 

before  the  mirror  in  her  dressing-room,  and  unwound  the 
black  lace  from  her  head. 

She  was  correct.  What  with  fatigue,  and  the  black 
shadows  flung  by  her  shawl,  the  best  friends  of  this  proud 
woman  would  have  recognized  her  with  difficulty. 

She  turned  for  her  husband's  answer,  but  found  that 
he  had  left  her  at  the  door.  All  rest  was  broken  up  for  her 
now ;  in  fact,  it  was  almost  morning ;  so  she  began  to  pace 
the  room  to  and  fro,  thinking,  with  exultation,  of  the  honors 
and  wealth  that  had  poured  in  upon  her  family  by  that 
gentle  old  lady's  death. 

Meantime  Lord  Hope  had  gone  back  to  the  death- 
chamber,  where  Mrs.  Yates  and  the  two  young  ladies  were 
waiting. 

The  old  woman  arose  from  her  knees  when  he  came  in. 

"That  which  I  have  to  say,  Lord  Hope,  relates  to  you, 
first  of  all,  now  that  my  dear  old  mistress  is  gone.  When 
the  first  Lady  Hope  came  to  America,  her  little  girl,  then 
between  two  and  three  years  of  age,  was  placed  in  my  son's 
family,  and  under  my  charge,  as  her  mother  had  been  when 
a  child.  She  had  reasons,  which  you  will  understand,  for 
wishing  the  child  to  pass  as  the  daughter  of  my  son  ;  so  we 
gave  her  his  name,  and  she  was  known  everywhere  as  my 
grandchild." 

"We  had  another  little  girl,  about  the  same  age,  the 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Brown,  an  actress ;  fair,  like  your  child, 
and  very  pretty.  This  child,  Caroline  Brown,  was  almost 
given  to  us ;  for,  after  the  first  year,  we  never  saw  her 
mother,  or  received  anything  from  her.  One  night  I 
received  a  note  asking  me  to  come  down  to  one  of  the  thea- 
tres, and  meet  a  person  who  had  business  with  me.  There 
was  no  name  to  the  note ;  but  I  supposed  it  must  be  from 
Mrs.  Browr,  and  went  But  no  person  was  there  to  meet 


284  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

me,  and  I  went  home  disappointed.  That  night  Lady 
Hope  died." 

Lord  Hope,  who  had  heen  anxious  and  restless,  drew  a 
deep  breath  ;  for  he  understood,  by  the  slow  caution  of 
the  old  woman's  speech,  that  she  meant  to  reveal  no- 
thing which  his  anxious  and  listening  daughter  might  not 
hear. 

"  My  lady  left  a  letter  behind  her,  with  some  money,  and 
the  Carset  diamonds,  which  she  charged  me  to  deliver,  with 
my  own  hands,  here  at  the  castle. 

"  She  had  fears  about  her  daughter — anxieties,  which  I 
need  not  explain — and  besought  me  to  keep  the  little  girl ; 
to  educate  her,  and  conceal  her  identity  until  she  was 
eighteen  years  old,  when  I,  or  my  son,  should  take  her 
back  to  England,  and  allow  her  to  choose  her  own  way  of 
life. 

"  I  had  talked  this  matter  over  with  my  lady,  and  gave 
her  a  solemn  promise  to  protect  her  child,  and  the  honor  of 
her  name,  with  my  life,  if  that  were  needed.  The  very 
night  of  her  death  Lady  Hope  gave  all  the  papers  neces- 
sary to  the  recognition  of  her  child  to  my  son.  He 
brought  them  home,  and,  while  the  children  were  asleep, 
we  two  pledged  ourselves  to  protect  your  child  from  every- 
thing that  her  mother  feared,  and  to  secure  for  her  all  that 
she  hoped. 

"  My  lord,  we  kept  our  oaths.  He  died,  broken-hearted, 
under  the  terrible  burden  which  we  took  on  ourselves  that 
night.  I  lived,  carrying  it  with  me,  till  my  shoulders  are 
bowed,  and  my  hair  white  with  old  age. 

"  The  next  day,  while  she  lay  dead,  a  fire  broke  out  in 
the  house  where  we  lived.  Our  rooms  were  high  up;  the 
flames  and  smoke  mounted  so  suddenly  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  us  to  escape  by  the  stairs.  The  two  little  girls 
had  crept  into  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  sat  crying  there, 


.   DEATH  IN  THE  TOWER-  CHAMBER.   285 

with  the  fire  and  smoke  rolling  toward  them.  I  had 
secured  the  box,  in  which  were  Lady  Hope's  jewels  and 
papers,  and  swung  it  over  my  shoulders,  then  snatched  up 
your  child." 

Here  the  two  girls,  who  stood,  pale  and  trembling,  by 
the  window,  uttered  a  simultaneous  cry. 

"  I  remember !  I  remember ! "  they  said,  each  to  the 
other,  then  clung  together  and  listened. 

The  old  woman  scarcely  heeded  this  interruption. 

Lord  Hope  looked  toward  the  window,  so  bewildered  that 
he  could  neither  see  nor  hear  anything  distinctly. 

Mrs.  Yates  went  on  : 

"I  called  on  Daniel's  wife  to  bring  the  other  child. 
Firemen  and  citizens  were  climbing  the  ladders  and  leaping 
in  at  the  windows.  One  man  sprang  into  the  room  and 
out  again,  while  I  waited  for  my  turn.  He  had  something 
in  his  arms  huddled  up  like  a  bundle — pushed  me  aside  and 
took  my  place  on  the  ladder.  Then  Daniel's  wife  came  to 
me,  wringing  her  hands  and  crying.  She  could  not  find 
the  child. 

"But  I  had  the  one  most  precious  to  me  in  my  arms. 
The  flames  drove  me  forward,  and  I  let  myself  down  on  the 
ladder.  Your  child  was  safe.  I  know  now  that  the  man 
who  pushed  me  from  the  window  saved  little  Caroline 
Brown  and  brought  her  to  you.  She  has  since  been  known 
as  your  daughter.  I  saw  her  in  your  arms  on  board  the 
steamer.  Last  night  she  was  recognized  as  grand-daughter 
of  Lady  Carset." 

'•  But  the  other — my  own  child  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  means  of  telling  you  the  truth  at  the  time, 
and,  after  that,  would  not  do  it.  The  child,  I  knew,  would 
be  a  safeguard  to  little  Clara-.  You  would  not  inquire  for 
her  while  supposing  her  in  your  own  possession.  But  we 
took  one  precaution — that  of  giving  her  the  name  of  Caro- 


286  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

line,  which  was  sure  to  prevent  inquiry.  After  that  she 
was  known  as  Caroline  Yates,  and,  until  my  son's  death, 
thought  herself  his  child.  I  never  lived  with  them  after 
that,  but  saw  her  from  time  to  time,  though  she  never 
noticed  me  or  knew  of  the  interest  I  took  in  her ;  but,  year 
by  year,  I  saw  her  grow  up,  until  my  son  died.  Then  I 
lost  all  knowledge  of  her. 

"  One  day  I  was  free  to  look  for  this  dear  child,  and  went 
to  the  cottage  where  my  son's  will  had  secured  her  a  home. 
It  was  empty.  She  had  gone  away  with  some  singing 
woman  and  a  person  named  Brown,  who  had  been  her 
music-teacher. 

"  The  woman  had  claimed  to  be  her  mother,  and  was 
known  on  the  stage  as  Olympia." 

"  Go  on  !  go  on ! "  exclaimed  Lord  Hope ;  "  I  am  listen- 
ing." 

The  two  girls  in  the  window  were  listening  also.  As 
they  understood  this  story  more  and  more  clearly,  their 
arms  tightened  around  each  other  and  a  look  of  unuttera- 
ble affection  beamed  upon  their  faces ;  but  that  of  the  girl 
known  as  Lady  Clara  glowed  with  a  look  of  generous  self- 
abnegation,  while  her  companion  was  troubled,  and  almost 
sad. 

"  Go  on !  go  on ! " 

"  I  left  America  at  once  on  learning  this,  bringing  Lady 
Hope's  papers  and  Lady  Carset's  jewels  with  me.  Olym- 
pia was  in  England,  and,  no  doubt,  your  daughter  was 
with  her.  First  I  came  here,  and  gave  up  the  trust  that 
had  become  a  heavy,  heavy  burden.  Then  I  went  in  search 
of  my  young  lady.  The  time  had  come  when  she  might 
claim  her  title  and  her  rights,  without  violating  her 
mother's  directions.  After  much  search,  I  found  Olympia's 
house,  and  inquired  for  the  person  known  as  her  daughter. 
She  told  me  herself,  and  with  bitter  anger,  that  she  had  no 


DEATH     IN     THE     TOWER-CHAMBER.      287 

daughter.  I  knew  the  woman,  and  attempted  to  make 
her  comprehend  that  I  wished  to  find  the  young  lady 
for  her  own  good;  but  this  flung  her  into  a  passion  of 
rage,  and  she  ordered  me  from  the  house.  Then  followed 
an  attempt  to  bribe  me.  Still  I  kept  up  the  search,  and  at 
last  traced  the  girl  they  called  Caroline  Brown  to  this 
neighborhood." 

"  To  this  neighborhood ! "  exclaimed  Lord  Hope. 
"Where?  where?" 

"  My  lord,  up  to  this  time  you  have  only  the  word  of 
an  old  woman,  who  has  suffered  under  great  reproach  for 
all  this.  I  know  that  the  identity  of  a  nobleman's  child 
and  the  transfer  of  a  great  inheritance  cannot  be  so  proven. 
But  here  is  the  letter,  which  Lady  Hope  gave  to  me,  and 
another  that  she  wrote  to  you  on  the  day  of  her  death. 
Poor,  poor  lady !  She  was  very  sad  that  morning,  and 
would  undertake  the  letter  at  once.  God  seemed  to  warn 
her  of  what  would  happen  in  the  next  twenty-four  hours." 

Lord  Hope  took  the  papers  which  the  old  woman  handed 
to  him,  and  there,  in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  gathered  a 
confirmation  of  all  Mrs.  Yates  had  told  him. 

The  paper  had  grown  yellow  since  it  was  blotted  with 
the  tears  of  a  woman  he  had  once  loved.  No  wonder  it 
shook  his  hand  as  he  read. 

"And  this  girl,  my  daughter,  where  is  she?"  he  cried, 
with  a  passionate  outburst  of  grief. 

The  girl  known  as  Lady  Clara  came  out  from  the 
shadows  of  the  window  curtains,  and  made  an  effort  to 
draw  Caroline  with  her;  but  she  shrank  back  and  stood 
alone,  trembling  violently. 

"Papa!" 

"  Ob,  my  poor,  poor  child !  How  will  you  bear  this  ?  " 
cried  Lord  Hope. 

"Trust   me,  dear,  dear  papa  —  for  I  will  call  you  so. 


288  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Nothing  can  break  my  heart,  if  you  and  mamma  Rachael 
will  love  me  yet ;  for  the  rest,  I  am  glad,  so  glad,  that  I  am 
no  longer  a  lady,  and  am  left  without  a  guinea.  This  is  to 
be  really  free  ! " 

"  Ah,  poor  child,  how  can  we  ever  part  with  you  ?  " 

"  Your  own  daughter  will  not  begrudge  me  a  little  love ; 
and,  after  all,  I  do  belong  to  mamma  Rachael  more  than 
she  ever  can.  That  is  something.  Besides,  it  is  from  me 
that  you  must  take  your  daughter,  for  I  brought  her  here. 
Ask  her  if  I  did  not." 

The  young  girl  was  smiling,  but  tears  stood  in  her  eyes, 
and  her  lips  quivered  as  she  spoke. 

"  Come  with  me,  father,  and  I  will  give  you  to  her.  It 
is  hard,  but  I  will." 

She  led  Lord  Hope  across  the  room,  drew  back  the  cur- 
tain, and  let  in  the  soft  gray  light  of  that  early  dawn  upon 
the  trembling  young  creature  who  stood  there. 

Lord  Hope  shook  in  all  his  limbs  when  he  saw  that  face. 
The  eyes  full  of  tears  seemed  to  reproach  him  as  hers  had 
on  that  fatal  night. 

He  reached  out  his  arms,  with  a  convulsive  heaving  of 
the  chest,  and  faltered  out : 

"  Forgive  me  !  forgive  me  !  for  I  have  bitterly  repented." 

He  did  not  kiss  her — he  dared  not  even  touch  her  fore- 
head in  that  solemn  presence ;  but  he  laid  one  hand  on  her 
head,  rested  his  own  upon  it,  asking  that  forgiveness  of 
God  which  her  heart  gave,  but  could  only  express  by  pa- 
thetic silence. 

Then  the  old  woman  came  up  to  the  window,  and  stood 
there,  waiting. 

When  Lord  Hope  fell  back  against  the  window-frame, 
strengthless  from  excess  of  feeling,  she  laid  a  hand  upon 
the  girl's  shoulder,  and,  turning  her  face  gently  to  the 


THE     NEMESIS.  289 

light,  gazed  upon  it  with  tender  scrutiny.  Then  she  said; 
talking  to  herself  : 

"  It  is  her  face !     It  is  her  face  !  " 

"And  you  are  Daniel  Yates'  mother.  How  I  shall  love 
you  !  Oh,  how  I  loved  him  !  " 

Then  the  old  woman's  face  began  to  quiver,  and  her 
large  gray  eyes  filled  with  the  slow  tears  old  age  gives  out 
with  such  pain. 

"  Yes,  child,  you  must  love  me  a  little  for  your  mother's 
sake." 

"And  for  the  sake  of  that  good  man,  your  son,  who  was 
a  father  to  me.  How  often  he  has  told  me  that,  if  there 
was  anything  grand  or  good  in  him,  it  came  from  the  best 
mother  that  ever  lived !  '  Some  day,'  he  once  said,  '  God 
may  be  merciful  and  let  you  know  her.  Then  remember 
that  she  has  nothing  left  but  you.'  I  do  remember  it,  and 
no  child  ever  loved  a  grandmother  better  than  I  will  love 
you.'' 

The  old  woman  lifted  up  her  head  from  the  gentle  em- 
brace thus  offered  her,  and  turned  to  her  dead  mistress. 

A  smile,  soft  as  that  hovering  about  that  cold  mouth, 
came  to  her  lips  and  eyes. 

"  God  is  very  good  to  me.  Are  the  angels  telling  you  of 
it,  my  old  mistress,  that  you  smile  so  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE    NEMESIS. 


THE  last  tender  words  were  still  lingering  on  the  lips  of 
Mrs.  Yates,  when  the  door  opened  and  Lady  Hope  stood 
upon  the  threshold. 


290  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

She  had  become  restless  beyond  self-control  in  her  own 
room,  and  came  back  to  the  death-chamber,  wondering  what 
detained  her  husband  there  so  long.  She  had  thrown  the 
lace  shawl  from  her  head  entirely ;  but  it  fell  around  her 
shoulders,  shading  her  bare  white  arms  and  beautiful  neck, 
which  the  amber-hued  dress  would  otherwise  have  left  un- 
covered. Framed  in  the  doorway  she  made  an  imperial 
picture. 

"  My  lord,"  she  said,  advancing  to  her  husband,  "  what 
detains  you  here  so  long  ?  " 

Old  Mrs.  Yates  stepped  forward  with  a  scared,  wild  look ; 
a  gleam  of  anger  or  fear,  bright  as  fire,  and  fierce  as  a  mar- 
tyr's faith,  shot  into  her  eyes  and  broadened  there.  She 
came  close  to  Lady  Hope,  facing  her,  and  laid  one  hand 
heavily  on  her  arm. 

The  haughty  woman  drew  back,  and  would  have  shaken 
the  hand  from  her  arm,  but  it  clung  there  with  a  grip  of 
steel. 

"  Lord  Hope,  is  this  woman  your  wife  ?  " 

"  His  wife !  Yes,  old  woman,  I  am  his  wife,"  cried 
Kachael,  pale  with  indignation ;  "  but  who  authorized  you 
to  ask  ?  " 

The  old  woman  did  not  heed  her  scornfulness,  but  turned 
her  eyes  upon  Lord  Hope,  whose  face  was  already  white 
with  vague  terror. 

"  Is  she  your  wife — the  woman  who  was  called  Kachael 
Closs  ?  " 

"  It  is  Lady  Hope,  my  wife.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  it  was  this  woman  who  murdered  your  first 
wife,  Lady  Carsefs  daughter  !  " 

More  than  the  stillness  of  death  settled  upon  that  room. 
The  two  girls  hushed  their  sobs,  and  clung  closer  together 
in  awful  silence.  The  man  and  the  woman,  on  whom  these 
words  had  fallen  like  a  rock  hurled  from  some  great  high 


THE     NEMESIS.  291 

stood  living  and  human,  but  struck  into  marble  by  a  single 
blow.  The  man  could  not  move  ;  the  woman  did  not  seem 
to  breathe.  Hannah  Yates  went  on,  her  voice  low,  but 
ringing  out  clear  and  distinctly  like  a  funeral  knell : 

"  On  the  twenty-first  of  June,  now  more  than  fifteen 
years  ago,  I  saw  you,  Lord  Hope,  come  out  of  a  house  in 
Forty-third  Street,  in  New  York. 

"  You  know  the  house,  and  can  never  forget  who  lived  in 
it.  That  day  I  had  carried  your  child  to  see  its  mother, 
and  left  word  at  home  for  my  son,  Daniel  Yates,  to  go  after 
her ;  for  I  had  business  with  a  woman  at  one  of  the  theatres, 
and  was  not  sure  of  coming  back  in  time.  The  woman  I 
expected  to  see  was  not  there  ;  but  it  took  me  a  long  time 
to  walk  back,  and  it  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  I  reached 
the  house  in  Forty-third  Street.  Thinking  it  possible  that 
Daniel  might  not  have  come  home  from  his  work  till  late,  I 
was  crossing  the  street  to  go  in  and  inquire  about  the  child, 
when  the  front  door  opened,  and  you  came  down  the  steps, 
with  a  fierce,  angry  air,  such  as  I  had  seen  many  a  time  on 
this  side  the  water.  I  knew  that  your  presence  in  that 
house  could  have  no  peaceful  meaning,  and  went  over.  I 
had  a  latch-key,  and  did  not  need  to  ring. 

"  The  hall  was  dark — everything  was  still  below  ;  but  a 
sound  of  weeping  and  moans  of  distress  came  from  my 
lady's  chamber.  I  went  up  and  found  her  in  the  dark,  lying 
across  her  bed,  trembling  dreadfully.  She  shrieked  when  I 
bent  over  her,  and  it  was  not  till  I  got  a  light  that  she  would 
be  satisfied  that  it  was  only  me.  Then  she  sat  up,  and,  in  a 
rapid  way,  told  me  that  you  had  been  there  after  the  child, 
and  would  have  it  but  that  the  little  creature  had  crept 
away  and  could  not  be  found  anywhere  in  the  house. 
She  must  have  got  into 'the  street,  and  you  would  find  her, 
or  she  might  be  lost.  She  begged  me  to  go  at  once  and  look 
for  the  child,  and  wanted  to  go  with  me ;  but  I  would  nofc 
18 


292  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

let  her  do  that.  I  took  her  arms  from  my  neck — for,  in 
her  joy  at  seeing  the  old  woman,  she  had  flung  them  there 
—made  her  lie  down  on  the  bed,  and  went  away,  promising 
to  come  back  if  I  did  not  find  the  child  ;  but,  if  I  did,  it 
was  to  be  carried  to  my  own  house,  as  she  was  afraid  to  trust 
it  near  her.  With  this  understanding  I  left  her  to  search 
for.  the  little  girl. 

"  She  may  have  crept  down  to  the  basement  door  and  be 
hiding  under  the  steps,  I  thought.  Of  course,  the  little 
thing  would  be  afraid  to  go  out  into  the  streets.  So  the 
first  thing  I  did  was  to  run  down  into  the  area.  In  my 
haste  I  had  left  the  door  ajar,  and  bethought  myself  to  go 
back  and  shut  it,  but  while  I  was  searching  the  area  a 
woman  ran  up  the  steps  and,  pushing  the  door  open,  went 
into  the  house. 

"  At  first  I  thought  it  was  one  of  the  servants,  for  they 
all  appeared  to  be  out,  but  she  had  on  a  striped  India  shawl, 
such  as  ladies  wore  in  travelling,  and  a  straw  bonnet,  from 
which  the  veil  had  blown  back.  These  were  not  things, 
worn  by  servants ;  besides,  her  air  and  walk  convinced  me 
that  this  woman  was  of  another  class.  As  she  entered  the 
door  I  saw  her  face  for  a  single  moment,  but  long  enough  to 
show  me  that  I  had  never  seen  it  before, 

"  The  child  was  not  in  the  area.  I  rang  the  basement 
bell,  meaning  to  question  the  servants,  but  no  one  answered 
it.  Then  I  hesitated  where  to  go  next,  and  as  I  stood  in 
the  shadow  of  the  steps  thinking  the  matter  over,  this  same 
woman  came  through  the  door,  shut  it  without  noise,  and 
ran  down  to  the  pavement.  I  saw  her  face  clearly  then,  for 
the  street  lamp  was  bright.  It  was  that  of  the  woman  by 
your  side,  Lord  Hope." 

Kachael  Gloss  turned  a  pallid  face  upon  her  husband. 

"  Will  you  permit  this  woman  to  go  on  ?    Is  this  hideous 


THE     NEMESIS.  293 

lie  a  thing  for  my  husband  to  encourage  by  his  silence? 
Who  is  this  audacious  woman  ?  " 

Lord  Hope  attempted  to  speak,  but  his  white  lips  seemed 
frozen  together. 

"  I  am  Hannah  Yates,  the  nurse  of  that  murdered  lady  . 
the  woman  who  has  given  fourteen  years  of  her  life,  rather 
than  have  scandal  fall  on  the  husband  her  foster-child  loved, 
or  the  awful  truth  reach  her  dear  old  mistress,  who  died, 
thauk  God,  without  knowing  it." 

"  And  you  listen,  my  lord,  to  this  woman,  a  confessed 
murderer,  and,  no  doubt,  an  escaped  convict  ?  " 

"  He  must  listen,  and  he  must  believe !  How  did  I  know 
that  he  was  in  my  lady's  house  that  night,  and  the  moment 
of  his  leaving  it  ?  How  did  I  know  the  very  words  he  used 
in  attempting  to  force  the  child  from  her?  No  human 
being  but  himself  and  the  poor  lady,  whose  lips  were  cold 
within  an  hour,  knew  of  anything  that  passed  between  the 
husband  and  wife  the  last  time  they  ever  met  on  earth." 

"  But  you  might  have  overheard — no  doubt  were  listening 
— if  my  lord  was  indeed  in  that  place  at  all.  This  is  no 
evidence,  even  if  a  woman,  convicted  by  her  own  confession 
of  a  crime  she  now  seeks  to  cast  upon  another,  could  bear 
witness." 

Kachael  Gloss  spoke  out  clearly  now,  and  her  eyes,  shining 
with  the  ferocity  of  a  wild  animal  at  bay,  turned  full  upon 
the  old  woman  who  accused  her. 

The  old  woman  put  a  hand  into  her  bosom  and  drew  out 
a  small  poniard.  Eachael  Gloss  gave  a  sharp  gasp,  and 
snatched  at  the  poniard,  but  the  old  woman  held  it  firmly. 

"Lord  Hope,  this  has  been  in  your  hands  a  hundred 
times.  When  did  you  part  with  it  ?  To  what  person  did 
you  give  it  ?  Your  crest  is  on  the  handle  ;  her  blood  rusts 
the  blade." 


294  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

Lord  Hope  lifted  both  hands  to  conceal  the  horror  that 
was  on  his  face,  to  shut  out  the  weapon  from  his  sight. 

"  Oh  !  my  God  !  my  God  !  spare  me  more  of  this !  " 

The  proud  noble  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot.  The 
veins  swelled  purple  on  his  forehead.  The  sight  of  that 
slender  weapon  swept  away  his  last  doubt.  Lady  Hope 
shrank  back  from  his  side,  but  watched  him  keenly  in  her 
agony  of  guilt  and  dread.  Her  proud  figure  withered  down, 
her  features  were  locked  and  hard,  but  out  of  their  pallor  her 
great  eyes  shone  with  terrible  brilliancy.  Her  husband's 
hands  dropped  at  last,  and  he  turned  a  look  of  such  despairing 
anguish  upon  her  that  a  cry  broke  from  her  lips. 

"  You — you  condemn  me  ?  " 

Lord  Hope  turned  from  her,  shuddering. 

"  You  know  !  you  know  ! " 

He  remembered  giving  her  this  poniard  on  the  very  day 
of  her  crime.  He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  carrying  it  with 
him  when  travelling,  and  though  sharp  as  a  viper's  tongue, 
it,  with  the  daintily  enamelled  sheath,  was  a  pretty  table 
ornament,  and  she  had  begged  it  of  him  for  a  paper  cutter. 
He  had  seen  the  sheath  since,  but  never  the  poniard,  and 
now  the  sight  of  it  .was  a  blow  through  the  heart. 

"  I  picked  it  up  by  her  bed  that  morning,  after  the  mur- 
der. There  is  a  person  in  the  castle  who  saw  me  take  it 
from  the  place  where  it  had  fallen.  If  any  one  here  doubts 
me,  let  them  ask  a  person  called  Margaret  Casey — let  them 
ask  her." 

That  moment  the  door  of  the  room  opened,  and  Hepworth 
Gloss  stood  on  the  threshold.  He  had  been  informed  of 
Lady  Carset's  illness,  just  as  he  was  leaving  the  castle,  and 
came  back  only  to  hear  that  she  was  gone.  The  scene  upon 
which  he  looked  was  something  worse  than  a  death-chamber. 

"  Ask  him  if  he  did  not  see  this  poniard  in  her  room  while 
she  lay  uuburied  in  the  house." 


THE     NEMESIS. 

Eachael  turned  her  eyes  upon  her  brother — those  great, 
pleading  eyes,  which  were  fast  taking  an  expression  of  pa- 
thetic agony,  like  those  of  a  hunted  doe. 

"  And  you — and  you  !  "  she  said,  with  a  cry  of  pain  that 
thrilled  the  heart  of  her  wretched  husband.  "  Has  all  the 
world  turned  against  me  ?  Old  woman,  what  have  I  ever 
done  to  you  that  you  should  hunt  me  down  so  ?  " 

Hepworth  Gloss  came  forward  and  threw  an  arm  around 
his  sister's  waist. 

"  What  is  it,  Rachael  ?  Who  is  hunting  you  down  ?  " 
he  said,  tenderly.  No  one  shall  hurt  you  while  I  am  near." 

She  turned,  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  covered 
his  face  with  passionate  kisses.  Then  she  turned  to  Lord 
Hope,  held  out  her  pale  hands  imploringly ;  and  cried  out  in 
pathetic  anguish  : 

"  Oh,  do  not  believe  it !     Do  not  believe  ft ! " 

But  Lord  Hope  stepped  back,  and  turned  away  his  face. 
She  knew  that  this  motion  was  her  doom. 

"  Let  me  look  at  the  poniard,"  she  said,  with  unnatural 
gentleness.  "  I  have  a  right  to  examine  the  proofs  brought 
against  me." 

Hannah  Yates  gave  her  the  dagger.  She  looked  at  it 
earnestly  a  moment,  laid  one  hand  upon  her  heart,  as  if  its 
beating  stifled  her,  then  lifted  the  other  and  struck. 

"Now,  my  husband,  will  you  kiss  me?  I  have  given 
them  blood  for  blood,  life  for  life  ! " 

"She  fell  in  a  heap  at  her  husband's  feet,  and  while 
death  glazed  over  her  eyes,  reached  up  her  arms  to  him. 

He  fell  upon  his  knees,  forgetting  everything  but  the  one 
dreadful  fact  that  she  was  his  wife,  and  dying.  His  face 
drooped  to  hers,  for  the  lips  were  moving,  and  her  eyes  turn- 
ed upon  him  with  pathetic  anxiety. 

"  It  was  love  for  you  that  led  me  to  it — only  that — Oh, 
believe — beli — " 


296  THE    OLD'  COUNTESS. 

"I  do !  I  do !  "  he  cried  out,  in  fearful  anguish.  "  God 
forgive  me,  and  have  mercy  on  you  !  " 

She  struggled,  lifted  up  her  arms,  drew  his  lips  close  to 
hers,  and  over  them  floated  the  last  icy  breath  that  Rachael 
Gloss  ever  drew. 

Then  the  young  girl,  who  had  loved  this  woman  better 
than  anything  on  earth,  sank  to  the  floor,  and  took  that  pale 
head  in  her  lap,  moaning  over  it  piteously. 

"  My  poor  mamma!  my  darling  mother  !  Speak  to  me  ! 
Open  your  eyes  !  It  is  Clara — your  own,  own  child  !  Her 
eyelids  close — her  lips  are  falling  apart !  Oh  !  my  God,  is 
she  dead  ?  " 

She  looked  piteously  in  the  face  of  Hepworth  Gloss,  who 
had  knelt  by  her  side,  and  asked  this  question  over  and 
over  again : 

"  Is  she  dead  ?     Oh,  tell  me,  is  she  dead  ?  " 

Hepworth  Gloss  bent  down,  and  touched  his  lips  to  the 
cold  forehead  of  his  sister ;  then  he  lifted  Clara  from  the 
floor,  and  half  led  her,  half  carrred  her,  from  the  room. 

Then  Lord  Hope  stood  up  and  turned,  with  a  shudder,  to 
the  old  woman,  who  had  been  to  him  and  his  a  fearful 
Nemesis. 

"  Hannah  Yates,"  he  said,  "  you  have  suffered  much, 
concealed  much,  and,  from  your  own  confession,  are  not 
without  sin." 

"  True,  true,"  murmured  the  old  woman.  "  I  have  sin- 
ned grievously." 

"  Therefore,  you  should  have  shown  more  mercy  to  this 
unhappy  woman.  But  the  suffering  and  the  wrong  was 
done  to  shield  this  girl  from  what  you  thought  an  evil  in- 
fluence, and  save  from  reproach  two  noble  houses,  to  which 
she  belongs — for  her  face  tells  me  that  your  story  is  true. 
Spare  the  memory  of  this  most  unfortunate,  if  sinful  woman. 
Spare  the  high  name  and  noble  pride  of  the  old  countess, 


THE     NEMESIS.  297 

who  beseeches  you — her  very  face  seems  to  change  as  I 
speak — for  silence  and  forgetful  ness.  That  which  you 
have  done  in  love,  continue  in  mercy.  Let  this  miserable 
scene,  with  all  that  led  to  it,  rest  in  sacred  silence  among  us. 
The  persons  who  have  suffered  most  are  now  before  a  tribunal 
where  no  evidence  of  yours  is  wanted.  Look  on  your  old 
mistress,"  he  continued,  pointing  toward  the  death  couch, 
"  and  let  her  sweet  face  plead  with  you.  Had  she  lived — " 

"  Had  she  lived,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  I  should  not 
have  spoken.  Death  itself  would  not  have  wrung  from  me 
one  word  of  what  her  daughter  suffered.  But  the  woman 
who  murdered  her  came  suddenly  before  me.  It  was  a 
power  beyond  my  poor  will  that  made  me  speak  ;  but  here- 
after no  word  of  this  shall  ever  pass  my  lips.  No  evil  story 
of  suffering  or  bloodshed  shall  ever  go  forth  about  a  lady  of 
Houghton  while  I  can  prevent  it." 

Lord  Hope  bent  his  head,  and  made  an  effort  to  thank 
her,  but  he  could  not  speak. 

"  Leave  me  now,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  Let  no  servants 
come  near  these  apartments,  save  two  that  can  be  trusted 
here  with  me.  Some  one  send  Margaret  Casey  and  Eliza, 
her  sister,  here.  Now  leave  me,  Lord  Hope,  and  you,  Lady 
Carset.  You  can  trust  the  old  woman  alone  with  these 
two." 

Before  noon,  that  day,  it  was  known  in  all  the  country 
around  that  the  old  countess,  Lady  Carset,  lay  in  funeral  state 
in  the  royal  guest-chamber  at  Houghton  Castle,  for  the  long 
red  flag  was  floating  half-way  down  its  staff,  and  a  hatch- 
ment hung  in  mournful  gorgeousness  over  the  principal 
entrance  between  those  two  massive  towers. 

But  farther  than  the  flag  could  be  seen,  and  swift  as  the 
wiud  that  stirred  it, "went  the  strange  story  that  the  beauti- 
ful Lady  Hope  had  been  seized  with  a  violent  hemorrhage 


298  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

of  the  lungs  while  standing  by  the  death  couch  of  the  old 
countess,  and  had  died  before  help  could  be  obtained. 

After  this,  another  wild  rumor  took  wing.  The  young 
lady  who  had  been  some  weeks  at  the  castle  was  only  an 
adopted  daughter  of  Lord  Hope,  and,  consequently  could 
not  become  heiress  of  Houghton  under  the  will  or  by  entail. 
The  daughter  and  heiress  was  at  the  castle,  stricken  down 
with  grief  at  the  double  loss  that  had  fallen  upon  her  since 
her  arrival  from  abroad,  where  she  had  been  educated. 
With  a  feeling  of  delicacy  that  did  her  honor  she  had 
declined  to  appear  as  the  acknowledged  heiress  at  the  festi- 
val given  to  Lady  Hope,  feeling  that  it  might  interfere  with 
her  grandmother's  independent  action  with  regard  to  the 
vast  property  at  her  disposal,  if  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
proclaimed  thus  early  as  the  chosen  heiress,  which  she  now 
undoubtedly  was.  The  will  had  been  read,  and,  with  the 
exception  of  a  considerable  legacy  to  Caroline  Brown,  the 
adopted  daughter,  and  provisions  for  the  servants,  young 
Lady  Carset  came  in  for  everything. 

Alderman  Stacy  took  this  story  back  to  America,  and 
described  his  reception  at  Houghton  Castle  with  such  glow- 
ing colors — when  the  assembled  board  were  at  supper  one 
night,  in  a  pleasant,  social  way  —  that  one  of  the  fathers 
proposed  forthwith  to  draw  up  a  resolution  of  thanks  to 
young  Lady  Carset  for  the  hospitality  extended  to  their 
illustrious  compeer,  and  forward  it,  with  "  the  liberty  of  the 
city,  under  the  great  seal  of  New  York."  At  the  next 
meeting  of  the  board  this  resolution  was  carried  unani- 
mously— in  fact,  with  acclamation. 

Months  went  by,  twelve  or  more,  and  then  the  trees 
around  that  grand  old  stronghold  blazed  out  with  lights 
again.  Two  fountains  shot  their  liquid  brightness  over  the 
stone  terrace,  at  which  the  people  from  far  and  near  came 
to  drink.  One  sent  up  crystal,  and  rained  down  diamonds, 


THE     NEMESIS.  299 

as  it  had  done  that  night  when  the  old  countess  died.  The 
other,  being  of  wine,  shot  up  a  column  of  luminous  red  into 
the  air,  and  came  down  in  a  storm  of  rubies. 

The  people,  who  caught  the  red  drops  on  their  lips,  and 
dipped  the  sparkling  liquid  up  with  silver  ladles,  knew  that 
a  double  wedding  was  going  on  in  the  castle,  and  clamored 
loudly  for  a  sight  of  their  lady  and  her  bridegroom. 

After  a  little,  the  windows  along  the  facade  of  the  build- 
ing were  thrown  back,  and  a  gay  throng  poured  itself  into 
a  broad  balcony,  that  projected  a  little  over  the  stone  terrace, 
where  the  wine  was  flowing,  and  the  eager  people  crowding 
forward  for  the  first  look. 

Foremost  came  Lord  Hilton,  leading  Clara — Lady  Carset 
— by  the  hand.  Then  Hepworth  Closs  stepped  forth,  and 
on  his  arm  a  bright,  sparkling  little  figure,  in  a  cloud  of 
gauzy  silk,  and  crowned  with  white  roses,  who  smiled  and 
kissed  her  hand  to  the  crowd,  while  her  little  feet  kept  time, 
and  almost  danced,  to  the  music,  which  broke  from  terrace 
and  covert  as  the  bridal  party  appeared. 

Standing  a  little  back,  near  one  of  the  windows,  stood 
two  gentlemen,  one  very  old  and  stricken  in  years,  who 
leaned  heavily  on  his  cane,  and  looked  smilingly  down  upon 
the  multitude  swaying  in  front  of  the  castle ;  'and  well  he 
might,  for  two  of  the  finest  estates  in  England  had  been 
joined  that  day,  and  from  horizon  to  horizon  stretched  the 
united  lands  which  the  children  of  his  grandson  would 
inherit. 

The  other  gentleman,  standing  there  with  the  sad,  worn 
face  was  Lord  Hope,  who  leaned  heavily  against  the  window- 
frame,  and  looked  afar  off  over  the  heads  of  the  multitude 
wearily,  wearily,  as  if  the  days  of  marrying  and  giving  in 
marriage  were  all  a  blank  to  him.  When  the  young  bride, 
who  had  given  up  her  name,  title  and  fortune  willingly  to 


300  THE     OLD     COUNTESS. 

another,  came  up  to  him  at  the  window,  she  laid  her  hand 
tenderly  on  his  arm,  whispering  : 

"Farewell,  father,  farewell !  I  am  not  the  less  your  child 
because  of  the  blue  blood,  for  she  cannot  love  you  better 
than  I  do.  Will  you  not  shake  hands  with  my  husband, 
father?" 

Lord  Hope  lifted  his  heavy  eyes  to  Hepworth  Gloss,  saw 
the  features  of  another,  whom  no  one  ever  mentioned  now, 
in  that  face,  flung  both  arms  about  the  bridegroom,  shaking 
from  head  to  foot  with  tearless  sobs. 

A  little  while  after  a  carriage  drove  from  Houghton  to 
the  station,  and  in  two  days  a  steamer  sailed  with  Hepworth 
Gloss  and  his  wife,  with  that  kind  and  faithful  man,  her 
father,  for  New  York. 

Just  as  they  were  about  to  sail,  an  old  woman  came 
quietly  into  the  second-class  cabin,  paid  her  passage,  and 
rested  there,  never  coming  on  deck  till  the  steamer  landed. 
Then  she  gathered  up  her  effects  in  a  carpet-bag  and  went 
ashore. 

That  night  a  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth  at  Cedar  Cottage, 
and  the  dilapidated  furniture  in  the  various  rooms  was 
arranged  in  the  kitchen. 

About  six  months  after,  this  old  woman  was  found  dead 
upon  an  iron  bedstead  up-stairs,  and  the  neighbors  held  a 
consultation  about  burying  her  at  the  expense  of  the  town ; 
but,  on  searching  the  rooms,  plenty  of  English  gold  was 
found  to  have  kept  her  comfortable  for  years.  Then  some 
one  remembered  that  a  convict,  discharged  from  the  prison 
not  many  years  ago,  was  said  to  be  the  mother  of  Daniel 
Yates,  a  good  man  and  excellent  citizen,  and  they  decided 
to  bury  the  poor  old  convict  by  his  side. 

There  is  a  very  prosperous  firm  in  New  York,  which  has 
stood  the  shock  of  gold  corners,  and  railway  crashes,  with 


THE     NEMESIS.  301 

the  firm  resistance  of  heavy  capital  and  business  integrity. 
It  is  the  firm  of  Gloss  &  Brown. 

The  younger  member  is  an  active,  shrewd,  generous  man, 
full  of  resources,  aud  capable  of  wonderful  combinations. 

The  other  superintends  the  in-door  business,  and  makes 
himself  very  useful,  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way,  in  keeping 
things  straight — no  unimportant  position  in  a  business 
house,  let  me  assure  you. 

As  for  Caroline — Mrs.  Hepworth  Gloss — you  may  see  her, 
any  fine  day,  dashing  faster  than  the  law  allows,  along  the 
avenues  of  Central  Park,  holding  a  pair  of  white  ponies 
well  in  hand,  while  she  chats  and  laughs  with  her  husband, 
glorying  in  him,  and  exulting  in  the  freedom  which  she 
gained  in  losing  a  grand  title  and  estate. 


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